by Lori Foster
It was the position of lovers, and Clint tried to ease away from her tenacious grip.
She didn’t allow it.
“What did you do to me?”
Giving up, Clint cuddled her closer, making her comfortable. “I saved you.” She needed to remember that.
“Yes, but afterward…What happened?” She looked at him, realized how they were embracing, and apparently decided to sit up.
“Easy.” Clint helped her, propping her against his leg. “I didn’t do anything to you, you just keeled over. Are you hurt?”
She scooted real close, so close he could smell her subtle scent. Her nails stung as she gripped his arm like a lifeline, and served a stark counterpoint to the forced calm in her expression.
“Hurt as in sore? Yes. Hurt as in damaged, no.” She looked around, jittery, uncertain, and trying real hard to hide it. “Where are we?”
Red spoke up. “In my van, heading home.”
“Where are…” She swallowed hard, squeezed closer. Her voice dropped. “Where are those men?”
Deliberately, the light inside the van was dim. Clint had wanted to give her the security of shadows to conceal her fear. He already knew that she didn’t like showing fear or upset. But earlier it had been bright, and he had seen the bruises on her pale flesh, the raw scrapes on her knees and elbows.
He pried her fingers loose and put his arm around her, hauling her into his side. She seemed to need his touch, so no one needed to know that he liked holding her.
“We had to leave them behind.”
Her eyes flared wide. “You just let them go?”
Clint didn’t want to bring up her fiancé again, or the possibility of a scandal, so he shrugged.
“Sort of. I left them to crawl into their car, which they’ve probably already done.”
Her face fell. “So they’re just getting away with…with taking me?”
“I punished them.” He stared at her steadily, making sure she understood. “I don’t normally maim people when I make a rescue. Not if I can help it.”
She bit her lips, then nodded. “And I appreciate it, I really do.”
She appreciated it? Clint didn’t know what the hell to make of that.
“But once they heal, they might…”
Cupping her cheek, Clint said, “No way would I let that happen. Mojo dicked with their engine just enough to make sure it’d only make it a few miles before it breaks down.”
“What good will that do?”
“It’ll make it easier for the cops to find them.”
“The cops are looking for them?”
Red looked at her through the rearview mirror. “They are now that I called and made an anonymous report that I saw rifles and drugs in their trunk.”
“Oh.”
“We didn’t plant them there,” Red explained.
“The bust will be legit.”
Clint smoothed away a smudge of dirt on the side of her jaw. “They’ll do some time, but you won’t have to be involved.”
Of course, Red had gathered up plenty of info first, including the registration that had been left in the car. If they managed to escape the cops, Clint knew who they were, and he’d know how to find them.
What he didn’t know was who had hired them, because they hadn’t known. They were given money and instructions by another street thug who worked for an anonymous man. Robert? Asa? Clint had no idea. And he had no way to find the one responsible. Yet.
Julie didn’t look quite convinced, so Clint added, “I didn’t think you’d want them in the van with us.”
Defeat took the tension out of her spine, and she slumped against him. “You’re right.”
He’d expected hysterics, shock. She was too composed and he didn’t like it. He wanted to keep her talking. “Do you know any of their names?”
“Just Petie.” She shivered again from saying his name. “He was the worst.”
Clint gave her a reassuring hug.
“Did you really break his jaw?”
“Yeah. I’d have done more than that if you hadn’t gone and fainted on me.”
Her eyes searched his, looking for answers. “You were worried about me?”
“Let’s just say I prioritized.” Clint had had his hands full of soft, limp woman, so he’d left the questioning to his friends. “One of them never came to.”
“Do you think he was dead?”
“No. He had a steady pulse.” She hadn’t sounded particularly upset by the prospect of death, just curious. But there was still a small frown on her brow, a look of discomfort, confusion. Clint leaned down to see her averted face.
“Julie Rose, are you—”
“I’m fine.”
Her rushed reply came a little too fast to suit him. “You don’t have to tell me any of the details if you don’t want to, but—”
“Us.”
“What?”
She glanced at him, at the front seat of the van where Mojo and Red sat, then down at her lap. She curled her legs under the skirt of her tattered gown. “There are three of you,” she emphasized in a low tone, “and they’re certainly close enough to hear, so anything I say would be to all of you. The proper pronoun would be us, plural.”
He supposed that was the teacher in her coming out.
After that small lecture, she avoided his gaze. “Do you want to introduce me to your friends? I don’t even know some of their names yet.”
To Clint’s speculative eye, she looked a little woozy, in pain, and God knew she was babbling. But she’d awakened as easily as she’d passed out.
And he was still worried.
Clint propped his back against the side of the van and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Why not? It’s not like we’ve got more important stuff to talk about.”
She glared at him, pleasing him with her gumption.
“The driver is Red, and the man staring at you is Mojo.”
As if they’d known each other a long time, Julie cuddled comfortably into his side. Her tangled, shoulder-length hair tickled Clint’s skin as she nestled her head against his chest. He noticed she had a couple of broken fingernails when she rested one slim hand across his bare abdomen. When she turned her body toward him, her thigh half covered his.
Damn. She was crawling onto him, getting under his skin so fast that it made his head swim.
To distract himself, Clint stared down at her exposed ankles and bare dirty feet.
“Red and Mojo? But what are your real names?”
Red chuckled while maneuvering through the dark night. Clint knew he hadn’t missed a thing, that he was aware of little Julie Rose holding on to him for dear life. But Red would never make her uncomfortable by mentioning it.
“Oh, no.” Red shook his head. “Forget it. You don’t need to know my real name.”
Mojo muttered, “Hell, I don’t even remember mine anymore.”
Julie smiled. It was an amazing sight, that small, sweet smile.
Her fingertips absently curled against Clint’s skin in a discreet caress that about made him nuts. “So Mojo and Red, I suppose I owe you my thanks also. Your timing was a little off—I mean, a few hours earlier would have been better—but still, you did get me away before they could do what they really wanted to do, and I’m eternally grateful.”
“What did they really want to do?”
She frowned at Clint. “Don’t growl at me.”
“Answer me, Julie Rose.”
Rolling her eyes, then quickly turning her face down so that her false bravado couldn’t be unmasked, she said, “They wanted to…rape me.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “They said so enough.”
“They told you they were going to rape you?”
“Yes, after they got the money. Then they’d have killed me. They told me that, too.” She drew a breath and deliberately lightened her tone.
“But thanks to all of you, their plans were routed.”
The men shared a look of understand
ing. Red spoke first. “We’re glad we could help.”
Julie held silent for a long moment. “Do you do this for a living, then? Run around rescuing people, I mean.”
Clint felt aggrieved. There were things they needed to ask her, things they needed to know. She was dirty, bruised. She’d fainted. And she wanted to indulge in chitchat. “Julie Rose—”
Without lifting her head from his shoulder, she tipped her face up to him. “Why do you keep calling me by my first and last name? Just Julie will do. I mean, you’re my champion, right?” She gave a nervous little laugh. “We should be on a first name basis.”
He liked her name, and he liked her. However, keeping an emotional distance was necessary, and he could help accomplish that by not getting too friendly.
When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Clint dropped his head back against the side of the van and closed his eyes. Why the hell was she so chatty?
Julie nudged him. “Did any of you get hurt?”
Clint squeezed her to let her know that was something of an insulting question. He decided to get things back on track. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
Red again spied her in the rearview mirror, and he smiled. “We’ll be on the main road in another ten minutes. I’ll pull into a fast-food place and get you something. Anything in particular sound good?”
“Yes. Whatever you see first. That sounds perfect.” She smiled at Clint. “Do you see how I’m actually answering questions, not just ignoring them? It’s easy enough to do. I’m sure you could manage if you try.”
Clint’s eyes widened. She’d just chastised him, and her efforts at subtlety were absurd. “I have questions,” he told her, and though he didn’t mean to, he frowned.
Julie nodded. “Okay, but we’ll take turns.” She peeked up at him. “I suppose you’ll insist on going first?”
Mojo snickered.
Because it was important, Clint tipped her face up. He could read the truth of her words in her dark, expressive eyes. “Are you hurt?”
“I already told you no.” Again, that answer came too fast.
He opened his hand on the side of her face, tunneling his fingers into her baby-fine hair. He wanted to spare her as much as possible, so he leaned down until his forehead touched hers and spoke very softly, for her ears only. “You have a lot of scrapes and bruises, Julie Rose. If you need a doctor, we can take you—”
Her doe eyes darkened even more, and her breath came low and fast. “You still think they raped me.”
The question had to be forced out of Clint’s tight throat. “Did they?”
She shook her head hard. “No.”
“Julie…”
“No, they didn’t,” she insisted. “They would have, but they hadn’t yet. They…” She looked around, saw that Mojo and Red were pretending to pay no attention. “They touched me,” she whispered. “And hurt me. Just to be mean, just to scare me…”
The rage was unbearable, but Clint kept his hold on her light and easy. Without conscious decision, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I should have killed them.”
She bit her lip, nodded. “You could have. I mean, you’re capable of killing, right?”
Lying to her would be pointless. “Yes.”
“You’ve killed before?”
In the military, he had. But he didn’t want to frighten her, so he said nothing.
“We agreed,” she reminded him with a nudge.
“I answered questions, and now it’s your turn.”
He shook his head at her.
“Is that a no, you haven’t killed, or no, you won’t answer?”
“That was a sign of exasperation, actually.”
“Oh.” She looked thoughtful. “Do you always throw up after you’ve hurt someone?”
Christ. Clint heard Mojo muttering, Red chuckling. The woman had been kidnapped, held captive, abused and bruised, and all she wanted to do was ask questions.
If he’d measured his words more carefully before he spoke, then maybe he wouldn’t have sounded so defensive. “It has nothing to do with guilt, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her arched brows lifted. “Oh? Then why do you get sick?”
Assuming she needed to talk, that she needed the distraction of mundane conversation, Clint explained. But he felt stupid doing it. “I have a bad stomach.”
Her expression softened. “And a big heart.”
That was too absurd to deserve a response. More often than not, the descriptions given him included “heartless” at the very top of the list.
Her hand trembled when she touched his jaw. “I might have died if it wasn’t for you.”
Clint tended to agree. What they needed to find out now was who the hell wanted her dead, and why.
Mojo cleared his throat. “Want me to check her now?”
Alarm stiffened Julie’s fragile body. Clint soothed her, stroked her. “Mojo has medical training. The way you fainted has us all concerned. If you say there’s no need for a doctor, well, that’s up to you. But we’ve got a long night ahead of us and we’ll all feel better if you let him check you over, just to make sure.”
She tucked her face into his neck. Her breath was hot, her words muffled against his flesh. “No offense, Mr. Mojo, but I don’t think so.”
Clint met Mojo’s questioning gaze and nodded. Mojo wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he needed to talk to her, to reassure her.
Mojo gave in with a frown so black, it would’ve scared grown men. His tone, however, was soft and gentle and coaxing.
“Just Mojo, no mister to it. I’ll be painless. I need to see if you have a concussion, if you have any breaks.”
“No one hit my head, and you already saw me walk.”
Red said, “No, ma’am. You stood up, but then you fainted without taking a single step.”
Her head lifted with a startled expression. “That’s right.” And then to Clint, “How did I get to this van?”
“I carried you.”
Her brow puckered. “I don’t remember it.”
“That’s because you fainted, which is why Mojo needs to look you over.”
“How far?”
“What?”
“How far did you have to carry me?”
Clint huffed. “You have more damn questions than—”
“And you never answer me.”
Red laughed outright, while Mojo struggled to hide his smile.
Clint worked his jaw. “Not far, all right?”
At about the same time, Mojo said, “Close to two miles.”
Julie’s plain face looked adorable in her astonishment. “Two miles! You’re kidding.”
For a closed-mouthed bastard, Mojo was suddenly full of confidences. “A rough two miles. Woods, weeds, roots. Not much moon, so the path was hard to see—”
Clint thought about slugging Mojo. He silenced him with a look, then turned his attention to Julie Rose. “You don’t weigh a thing. It was no big deal.”
Even in the dim light of the van, Clint could see her blush. She fidgeted and then nodded to Mojo. “All right, you may check me.” Her body pressed closer to Clint’s. “But be quick about it.”
Clint started to move out of the way, but no more than an inch separated them before Julie wrapped herself around him. She moved so fast, he had no choice but to sit back and hold her. She settled in his lap—and she felt very right there.
Mojo indicated that it was okay, for Clint to just stay put so she wouldn’t get more upset. They both wondered if Julie was still a little in shock. She was too rigid, jumpy, alternately silent and then chatty.
And she hadn’t mentioned her fiancé again since renouncing him.
After Mojo climbed into the back of the van with them, he pulled a narrow flashlight from his pocket.
Clint nudged Julie’s chin with the edge of his fist. “He needs you to look at him a moment, Julie Rose.”
; She swiveled her head toward Mojo—while pressing closer to Clint.
Though she tried to hide it, Clint was aware of the tension rippling through her. He wished he could spare her, but they needed to see that she wasn’t seriously injured, and they needed her to answer some important questions.
Red hit a hole in the road, and she jerked hard, startled beyond reason. Clint rubbed her back, her narrow shoulders, helping to ease her. Her softness drew him. Her vulnerability drew him. Her scent drove him nuts.
Mojo ignored the telltale reaction that proved her calm a facade. He took her wrist and checked her pulse rate, then slid his fingers around her wrist, her elbow. “Can you move your arms and legs okay?”
With him guiding her, she obediently flexed each arm. But when she went to rotate her right foot, she gasped, then quickly tried to cover it up. “Oh, it’s a little sore. But not bad.”
No one believed her.
Mojo touched her ankle, his brow furrowed with concentration as he pressed and probed. Julie grimaced, and her breath hissed out.
Sitting back on his heels, Mojo shook his head. “It’s swollen. Not broken, I don’t think. Probably just a sprain, but I can’t be sure without an X ray.” He looked at Clint. “Should wrap it in some ice as soon as we can and we’ll see if the swelling goes down. No walking.”
“I must have twisted it when I…” Her voice again trailed off. Clint noticed that despite her chattiness, she had a very hard time relating anything that had happened at the cabin. She’d have to talk about it sooner or later, if for no other reason than to clear away the demons.
He wanted her to confide in him.
The urge to reassure her, to comfort her, was strong. But he was only the man hired to retrieve her, not her confessor, not her lover.
Not her fiancé.
Then again, Julie Rose didn’t need to share details for them to understand. They’d done more than one rescue, and each of them could visualize what she’d been through, how the bastards had mistreated her.
She said she hadn’t been raped, and Clint hoped like hell that was true. But sometimes women denied it out of a sense of unwarranted shame. If Julie Rose had been sexually abused, then all bets were off. He didn’t care that his role in her life ended the minute he turned her back over to Robert. No way would he let it end without first finding all four of them again—and gaining his own retribution.
