“Why are you doing this?” she challenged him, her eyes batting out tears. “Just leave me alone.”
He let out another strong lungful, keeping her with him. “Well, congrats. I’m your bodyguard now.”
She shot him a confused look and her mouth dropped. “What? Why? Is he paying you?”
He brought her back into his chest, holding her head against him again. The answer was obvious. He clenched his jaw, hating it all the same. That wasn’t why he was there—but he obviously could never say that.
“Look… Let’s just get you somewhere safe, somewhere to sleep. It’s the middle of the night,” he said, “and we can take it from there.”
Her muscles flexed and she was trying to push away, but this time he let her go.
“No,” she snorted, “I’m not going with you. You are not my bodyguard. I don’t know why you chose to follow me, but I’ll tell you this for free. I want nothing to do with you. Leave me alone!”
She turned on her heels and started marching away from him at a fast clip. Of course, Carrick couldn’t let her get away again. He didn’t want to kidnap her, but he didn’t want to watch her go—not deep into the desert mountains in the middle of the night. She was obviously a girl in trouble—more trouble than he’d first expected.
In the darkness, his mind started flashing memories across his consciousness. At first, he was reminded of an operation he’d run with the SEALs in sub-Saharan Africa, then he remembered something much, much worse. A pang of fear shot through him, a fear he’d never admit or breathe out loud. He had to own the memories from his past, whether he liked them or not.
For a few moments, Carrick stalked behind her, taking in their surroundings and watching her. Danica hunched over, clutching the bag tighter to her back, and panting steadily, between the uphill hiking and stress. He had to admire her resolve. One thing had become damn clear. She was willful, strong and determined to survive. Carrick grew more and more drawn to her with the realization that she was much, much greater than what she appeared.
She’s spirited as fuck.
As they moved farther away from the streetlight, they found themselves in deeper darkness, on the side of a deserted road in the middle of the night. Unfortunately for her, night raids were his bread and butter. He wasn’t in danger of losing her.
“Go away!” she yelled back at him, as if her snarling voice could deter him.
Frowning and dogged, Carrick trailed her without pause, as though he were hunting challenging prey. The more she told him to leave, the more he wanted to stay.
It wasn’t but a little farther down the road before Carrick heard a sound he knew well—one he’d never forget. Very much like a person whistling or a bird chirping, a strange sound emanated from the bushes on the edge of the road where a thick brush of trees sat, leading up the mountainside. Alarms rang in his mind—emergency. He immediately lunged toward Danica, reaching back into his waistband to grab his pistol.
Probably startled by his sudden movement, Danica whipped around to find him in the darkness. The unmistakable sound of a mountain lion charging out of the bushes echoed through Carrick’s ears, and acting on pure instinct, he took a shot, pushing Danica down to protect her under his body.
Goddamn, he would fucking save her if it was the last thing he did.
The bullet tore through flesh, resulting in a yelp from the mountain lion and a hot mess of blood down Carrick’s arm. Yet Carrick felt the unmistakable pain in his arm from teeth sinking in, resulting in a deep, angry groan from his own throat. The mountain lion fell backward, growling low and raspy. Carrick moved Danica farther back behind him, guarding her, and all grew still on the roadside. Slowly, the mountain lion slunk backward, the shuffling of paws and a low whine the only audible sounds. It was too dark to assess the wildcat, but Carrick guessed the animal wouldn’t survive.
A damn shame.
After a moment, with enough space between them and the predator, Carrick turned slightly, putting his pistol back in his waistband, tactical and precise, then dropped to pick up Danica. He kicked up dust in the sandy dirt of the roadside as he marched back toward the truck, holding a trembling, terrified woman to his chest.
Carrick couldn’t believe how the night was unfolding. Yet he had to admit that it still wasn’t the worst Valentine’s Day he’d ever had.
Without a word or asking permission to touch her, he heaved Danica into the passenger side of the truck, only to find that his arm was covered in blood—but he realized it wasn’t the mountain lion’s blood. Wrapping the wound in his sweater, unable to feel the pain, he made his way to the driver’s side.
Starting the engine, he cocked his head to her. “Are we doing this?”
Danica nodded quickly as she looked up and over to him. “Where to?”
Carrick searched her beautiful face. Her innocent gaze was pleading and frightened, but then the air shifted, and for some reason, he no longer was looking into Danica’s eyes but saw crisp blue eyes surrounded by brown lashes—blue eyes that weren’t there. What he was looking at wasn’t real, but he couldn’t stop the vision. His entire body stiffened in the driver’s seat as all he could see was Lauren’s face—with her head on the hospital pillow. She was scared. She was helpless. She was dying.
And there is nothing I can do to save her.
Chapter Seven
Danica
Danica anxiously ran her finger up and down the scratchy bedsheet on the motel’s lumpy mattress, trying hard to quell the rollercoaster of emotions she was experiencing. Even though it was dark inside the room, she still avoided the corner where Carrick was sitting, because she knew he was watching her. She was still damn mad that he’d forced his presence on her, but she’d grown equally glad that he’d shown up.
And it was exactly that juxtaposition that irritated her. She just didn’t know how to react. How am I supposed to feel? While her mind spiraled, she could hear him stirring and crossing his arms in the corner of the dark motel room. Was he going to spend the rest of the night in that chair? Just looking at her?
“How am I supposed to fall asleep,” she finally asked, narrowing her eyes on his darkened frame, “with you watching me like this?”
“Just close your eyes,” he ordered her, cold and emotionless. “We’ve got just about six hours until check out.”
“Then what?”
But he didn’t reply.
Trying to get comfortable curled up under the starchy white duvet of the room, she flitted her eyes back to the red numbers on the digital clock—four o’ clock in the morning. Her eyes felt weighted and her skin cold. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. Nothing seemed easy. Nothing.
“I’m not going to run,” she lied.
“Good.”
She exhaled, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all and that the words would stop coming out of her mouth. But, in her heart, she knew there was something else she had to say. She had to stay true to herself—and true to the natural world around her.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, needing to express her gratitude.
“What was that?” he asked, much louder than she’d spoken.
Frustrated, she cleared her throat. Was he testing her?
“I said—thank you.” The words came out a little heavier than she’d expected, and a thickness filled the air. “For saving me, again.”
“I heard you the first time,” he replied, the sound of amusement in his voice. “I just needed a sanity check.”
She squeezed the blanket harder and made a mental note never to open up to him again, since all he wanted to do was throw it in her face.
“Let this be a lesson,” Carrick went on in a lecturing tone. “Listen to me the first time and trust me.”
“No,” she said sharply, making herself clear. She rolled onto her other side, away from him.
The least she could do was not look at him or what she could see of his tall, dark, muscular form. She pressed her eyes closed, willing it to all go away an
d the panic inside her chest to cease. What am I going to do now?
Quickly, sleep found her. Or to be more accurate, a state of unconsciousness took her under.
* * * *
Danica flickered her eyes open slowly what must have been hours and hours later, only to see soft beams of morning sunlight breaking through the aged curtains in the motel room. She kept the white blanket close to her chest, protecting herself out of sheer reflex. Hearing rumblings off to the side of the room, she turned her head.
A familiar tall man made solely out of sculpted hard muscle in a gray fitted long-sleeved T-shirt and fitted black jeans was bent over a black duffel bag on the floor by the front door. Still dopey from a rough night, she watched him for a second or two as he reached up and smoothed back his hair. Her waking mind just drank him in, too groggy to feel. The golden tan on the back of his neck spoke of life experience and plenty of time outside. At least, she thought, there was something they’d have in common.
He leaned back and looked over his shoulder at her. She sucked in breath as a ray of morning sun caught his face, illuminating his eyes. She’d thought they were dark brownish—but they were actually a dark bluish-green and they shocked and startled her. She sucked in her breath, feeling goosebumps crawl up her thighs. There was something so intense about the way he looked at her.
“Morning,” he greeted her in his low, cool voice, looking her up and down as she sat up in bed.
Rubbing her hands over her cool, naked arms, she suddenly felt very exposed in just a gray tank top and a pair of purple bikini-cut underwear. Grabbing something from the black bag on the ground, he then moved to grab a chair and pulled it up to the bedside table, just feet from her. His scent filled her nose, and she couldn’t help but flutter her lashes as she inhaled. He was so damn masculine, so resolute—and that was enough to give her pause.
“Breakfast,” Carrick said, putting a napkin down on the bedside table and placing what appeared to be some sort of sandwich on it.
“What is this?” Danica’s voice cracked as she reached over to inspect it while he unscrewed the top of a bottle of water for her.
“It’s a breakfast sandwich.” He raised his eyebrow, searching her. “Look… It’s not much, but I only packed essentials for this…job.”
The word hung briefly between them as she flitted her gaze up to his. It was clear that he felt deep discomfort at the current arrangement, which suited her well, since she didn’t like it either. He was being paid to be there. He didn’t want to be.
She reached out and picked at the sandwich—bread, cheese, a sausage patty and a tomato. Another chill ran up her spine as she looked up and saw his forehead furrowed as he watched her.
“Um…” she began, clearing her throat.
“Yes?” his tone turned to a growl.
She shifted on the edge of the bed and let out a breath. “I’m vegan.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I don’t eat meat.” Her voice grew small.
Groaning, he reached over and pulled out the sausage patty from the sandwich, reaffixing it back together as bread, cheese and a tomato.
She let out another breath, closing her eyes in regret. She was not a difficult person. She was not.
“Vegans don’t eat dairy either,” she specified.
He narrowed his eyes farther, and his jaw flexed. Without saying anything, he pulled out the piece of cheese and patted the sandwich back together as bread and a tomato.
“And bread usually has egg products in it…so,” she began, but she couldn’t continue as he let out a low growl and grabbed the tomato out, flinging it on the napkin alone.
“I’ll find you a fucking apple,” he grunted at her, pushing himself off the bed. “You need to eat. We’ve got things to do.”
“We’ve?” she replied slowly. “Things to do?”
Carrick stood over her, looking down. Danica recalled the reality she was in. Nothing was going according to her plan. Now Carrick, on the other hand? He clearly had a plan and expected her to be the passenger along for the ride.
“What did Petrov say to you after I left?” he asked.
Her gaze fell, counting the threads on the carpet again. She was sure Carrick already knew, so what was the point in trying to hide it?
“He wants me in LA for my cousin’s wedding this afternoon,” she replied, finally, in a shaky tone. “Is that why he hired you?”
Carrick paused, rubbing his scruffy chin.
“I don’t know Petrov’s intentions. I only know what he told me,” he explained, his body stiffening.
Danica couldn’t help but tilt her head, trying to understand what he was saying.
Carrick continued, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here? Who the fuck is Petrov to you if he’s not your father?”
Letting out some air, Danica searched for the most minimal amount of information she could cough up to placate Carrick. She needed him on her side.
“Petrov has tried to position himself as a father figure to me,” she told him slowly, checking her tone, trying so hard to hold the deep, burning hatred out of it. “My parents died five years ago.”
“How did your parents die?” he asked.
“Car accident,” she replied, and opened her mouth to say more—but she stopped herself.
Carrick just watched, waiting for her to continue.
She confessed, “I ran as soon as I could. I ran away from his circle of influence, from his agenda.”
“Let me guess. He never treated you like a real daughter?”
The question nearly made her laugh because of how truly disgusting the answer was. Not only had he not treated her like a daughter, but in that short time after her parents had died, he’d treated her like another member of his enterprise—to be controlled and punished accordingly. But she bit her tongue. Those were not stories for this man.
“This wedding—” Carrick started.
Danica anxiously cut him off. “Are you going to force me to go?”
“Hell no,” Carrick scoffed. “Not a chance. Not without knowing what the fuck is going on here.”
Her whole body froze, trying to let his words sink in.
“Tell me, Danica.” He lowered his head, growling. “Is Petrov trying to hurt you? What do I need to know?”
“He’s controlling, abusive.” She formed words, curling her lips in anger as hatred rose from her core. “The man is a monster. You have no idea what he’s done.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t.” She dropped her gaze as a choking feeling rose in her throat. The pain of her past shot through her nervous system.
She shook her head slightly. Confide in him? Absolutely not. Her trust didn’t extend that far, and it never would. She knew she couldn’t buckle—especially under the intensity of someone like Carrick.
He’s just as dangerous.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, desperate to get away.
She popped off the bed, keeping her gaze away from his, and moved toward the bathroom with purpose. As distance grew between her and his looming form, Danica felt increasingly alone—and not in the way she usually wanted to be. It was a strange, strange feeling.
Shutting the bathroom door behind her, an emptiness grew like a hard lump in her chest, and even the beauty of the early morning sun beaming through the window couldn’t refill her. Shaking her head, she wondered what had gotten into her.
Taking a long, deep breath in the bathroom, she looked around. She realized Carrick had left things out for her—toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and soap. And it wasn’t the shitty motel stuff. He’d actually thoughtfully laid out necessities. As she whipped on the hottest water and stepped into the tub, she acknowledged that this was a man who was genuinely working to take care of her.
Trying to keep me safe.
The feeling was strange, and it was the only thing that had stopped her from making an effort to squeeze out of the bathroom window and b
olt.
As she washed herself, she had a random thought that caused her to raise an eyebrow. Maybe I’m looking at this situation all wrong, she thought, as she rinsed her body in the hot water. Carrick clearly had excellent tactical, outdoorsman and survival skills—things she needed if she ever wanted her big plan to work. Danica flipped off the water, and grabbed a crisp white towel from the rack.
I could ask him to teach me?
Danica nodded to herself, realizing what a genius idea she’d just had. Once she’d learned enough from him, she could finally leave—reclaiming her life on her own, once and for all. That was something she’d wanted for a long, long time. She’d known friends who had reclaimed their lives by turning camping into a lifestyle, and she was just as happy to get lost in the Northern California forests—spending winters in a cabin in the woods while she climbed mountains and summers in a tent on the beach while she surfed the cool, salty water of the coast. Her deep connection to the natural world would heal her and put her broken spirit back together.
A smile crept over her lips—a wild, crazy kind of smile. Maybe the anxiety had finally spiraled to a point of insanity and she had grown just desperate enough. Whatever it was, Carrick was starting to look like an opportunity, not a curse.
As she got out of the shower, she could barely see because of the steam in the bathroom, and there was no working fan. She moved to open the small motel window there, but the damn thing was firmly shut. While she was heaving on it, pushing it hard, she slipped on the wet tile and lost her grip. It didn’t help that little sleep and low blood sugar had clouded her mind and weakened her.
As her feet slipped out from underneath her, she yelped, and the bathroom door whipped open. Carrick lunged forward, grabbing her arms as she almost cracked her head on the wall. Lifting her to her feet, he smoothed his hands over and over her face, running his gaze up and down, likely to check that she was okay.
“You said you weren’t going to run.” He spoke in a low, warning tone, continuing to hold her face in his hands.
“I was just trying to open the window for air,” she explained, but she didn’t step back from his grasp.
Under Control Page 5
