Page 20 of Rules of Engagement

Jorja

Seated in the mule, phone camera at the ready with the search team gathered around, I watch Jocko take charge. He gives them a quick overview of what the dog will do and instructs them to stay behind, out of the way, then he says, “No man left behind. Let’s go bring Mr. Romano home.”

A couple of “oorahs” follow as he leans down, holds the shirt with the man’s scent for the dog to sniff, then gives him the command to “track.”

The K9’s nose goes straight to the ground. He takes off across the field we landed in.

The sheriff gives the mule gas, and we follow behind. “I sure hope that dog isn’t taking us on a wild goose chase, and he can find the old man. We combed these woods this morning.”

We follow along silently for a few minutes. “Jocko’s a Navy SEAL.”

His mouth turns down at the corners with an ‘is that so’ expression. “That explains a lot.”

“I thought it might.”

“Chief Malone called around 3:30 and offered Jocko and his K9 to help us out. It'll be a miracle if they can find him.”

Watching Jocko and his K9 work impresses the hell out of me. Jocko gives him the full rein, running beside and behind him, but letting the dog work independently of commands. The dog stays focused, and its pace is brutal. The rest of the search team spans out on their ATV four-wheelers and keep a safe distance behind.

As we ride, the sheriff asks why I’m here. I explain my job, then my assignment to get a story on Jocko for an Everyday Heroes article.

After about twenty minutes, Jocko stops and waves us over. The sheriff pulls alongside him. “Did you lose the scent?”

Jocko is breathing hard and sweating, but he answers as he walks to the back. “No. We need to hydrate. We've been running for twenty minutes.”

“That you have.” The sheriff acknowledges.

I spin around to watch Jocko as he unzips his backpack, takes out a couple of bottles of water, a bowl, and serves his dog first. As the K9 laps up the liquid, Jocko smiles at me and winks.

My heart does a flip-flop, and my tummy bottoms out.Man alive, that wink!

I raise the camera to snap a couple of pictures for cover, trying to suppress the sheepish grin that spread involuntarily across my face, knowing he knows why it’s there.

He made me … juicy.

He lifts a bottle to his lips and drains it.

My god!The way his Adam’s apple pulsates in his throat as he drinks. The way he stands. Proud and in command. His pumped chest challenges the stretch of his shirt. His bulked shoulders taper sharply to his waist. His straight legs big as tree trunks. But he's agile sprinting through the woods, dodging bushes, jumping fallen trees, ducking under low hanging branches.

He leans over the mule to store the bowl and empty bottles in his pack.

His back's thick, and the arch from it to his full, round ass is deep and sexy.

The genetically gifted boy I fought so hard to deny in high school has grown up to be a beautiful beast of a man, oozing the “it” factor from every fiber of his masculine presence.

He lets the dog sniff the shirt again. “Track.”

The K9 takes off.

I ask the sheriff as we follow, “How far do you think we've come?”

“Well, they've been running for over twenty minutes, so … three miles.”

“Did you search this far out?”

“No, we didn’t think the old man could make it this far. He's feeble.”

Suddenly, Jocko and his dog take off sprinting.

---