Brotherhood Protectors: Tempting Montana (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Martin Family Book 4)

by Parker Kincade

  “You made that decision without discussing it with me. The wife you say you were so concerned about.”

  That had hurt most of all. He’d shut her out of the most important decision of his life. He hadn’t respected her enough to ask for her opinion. Had he expected her to live unsure of when the next bomb would be dropped? Where was the partnership in that?

  His cruel laughter fell over her like snow. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re alone at night? Is that how you justify ending our marriage before we even had a chance to get started?” He made a noise of disgust. “My plan to become a Marine was never a secret.”

  “We talked in hypotheticals, Booker. What ifs. Never once did you actually say you were going to join the Marines. Not even on the day you enlisted.” She couldn’t keep the resentment from her voice. “You and Brandon made the decision to go together, without so much as a hint as to where you were going. You made a decision that also affected my life, without giving me a say. What was I supposed to do with that?”

  “You were supposed to be there for me. To support my decision. The second,” Booker slammed his fist against the table, “the fucking second things didn’t go the way you imagined, you bailed.”

  Ellie stared down at her hands, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. His choice to join the military had been an honorable one. His heart had been in the right place, but his execution had sucked. And yes, she had been the one to instigate the divorce. But it took two to tango, didn’t it?

  “And you let me.”

  God, they had been so young. It hadn’t taken her long to realize her mistake, but by then—

  An alarm rang out, loud and insistent. Booker surged to his feet so fast his chair toppled over. He grabbed the edge of the computer monitor and turned it so he could see the display.

  “Son of a bitch.” He started pulling wires.

  Ellie jumped to her feet. “What is it?”

  He tapped a finger against one of the live feed images on the screen a second before the screen went dark. “Company. We’ve gotta go.”

  “I’ll grab my bag.”

  “No time.” He snatched up the laptop and a large duffel bag, and grabbed her arm. He headed toward the door.

  “I’m not wearing shoes!”

  He spun, dropped, and shoved his shoulder into her uninjured side. A strong arm braced her legs as he surged back to his full height.

  The breath whooshed from her lungs. Feeling the urgency in his muscular frame, Ellie didn’t protest being carried like a sack of potatoes. Nor did she protest being unceremoniously dumped onto the passenger seat of the truck. He slammed the door and jogged around the front of the vehicle to the other side.

  “Buckle up,” he barked as he dropped into the driver’s seat. He shoved the laptop between the seat and the center console before starting the engine.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” she mumbled.

  Ellie thought she saw his lips twitch as he slammed the truck into gear and hit the gas.

  #

  Booker avoided using the driveway. He drove around the side of the house, then cut across the back yard. He had plotted an escape route the first night he’d been at the cottage—the night Ketcher had arrived, wounded and burning up with fever.

  Brandon had selected the perfect spot for Ketcher to lay low while he healed from an injury sustained during the mission that ended with the death of the Cuban drug lord. Rented under an untraceable alias—thanks to Brandon’s younger brother Alec—the property was fairly large and wooded on two sides, with the lake bordering the back. Booker and Roman had secured the perimeter. Sully and Adam had placed underground sensors at the head of the single road leading to the place, as well as at the top of the driveway…which in itself was a quarter of a mile long.

  Once security was in place, Booker had mapped an alternate route to the main road in the event one of Ketcher’s enemies came calling. He hadn’t actually expected to use it, though.

  Booker followed the shoreline, staying as far away from the edge of the lake as possible. The ground close to the water was soft. The truck would leave ruts noticeable enough to be followed.

  The truck bounced and trembled as Booker cut between the trees and hit the rougher ground of the woods.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ellie grab the oh shit bar to steady herself. She hadn’t said a word since he put her in the truck, which suited him just fine. The silence gave him the opportunity to regroup.

  Their fight had made his chest burn. Her accusation had flayed him open, left his insides exposed.

  She thought he hadn’t wanted her. That she hadn’t been the reason for every breath he took. That she hadn’t been the light that kept his world from utter darkness.

  He’d talked to her about the Marines. He’d been up front about his desire to join. Of course he had.

  Hadn’t he?

  His ass left the seat as the truck rolled over a stump. Ellie grunted and raised her free arm, bracing herself against the ceiling of the cab.

  Fuck. Whatever she believed, however wrong she’d been about his feelings for her, he couldn’t think about it now. He had other, more pressing, problems.

  Doing his best to ignore his passenger, Booker pulled out his cell phone and called Brandon.

  “It’s early, Spaniard,” Brandon quipped in way of greeting, his voice rough with sleep.

  “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep. A black SUV just triggered the underground sensor at the main road.”

  “Same one from last night?”

  “I’d say that’s a safe assumption.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the move. We pulled out when the alarm sounded.”

  Brandon went quiet for a minute. Then, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That last night wasn’t about Ellie? Yeah.” He glanced over to find Ellie sporting an I-told-you-so smirk. “I was informed of the possibility.”

  He returned his focus to the terrain and to getting them the hell out of there. “It makes sense. Whoever broke into her house left her alive.” Bile rose in his throat as he realized how easily the fucker could’ve killed her. “Why do that, then try to run her over in the parking lot? It doesn’t make sense. And while the contents of the flash drives are still an unknown, I believe the incidents are unrelated. There is nothing to tie Ellie to the cottage.”

  “Maybe they tracked her cell phone.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to, ’mano? I tossed her phone out the window last night as we were leaving the parking lot.”

  “But not your phone. You think the cartel tracked you?”

  “Unlikely.” Even if it were possible—and Booker highly doubted it—the cartel wouldn’t have had time to identify the other players in Ketcher’s rescue mission yesterday. “My guess is they somehow linked the cottage to Ketcher.”

  “How? Alec wouldn’t have left a trail. He’s better than that.”

  Booker scrubbed a hand over his mouth. He had too many questions and not enough answers. “I have no idea, but they found Regan. She hadn’t spoken to Ketch in four years. If they figured out the connection between Ketch and Regan because of the way they looked at each other in a photograph taken years ago in a war zone, they can find their way to a cottage.”

  There was something about the theory that didn’t set well, but it was the only thing that made sense. Whoever wanted the information Ellie supposedly had couldn’t have tracked her to the lake. Unless…

  Booker slammed on the brakes. The truck came to a violent stop. His gaze hit the rearview to make sure they didn’t have a tail.

  “Is it possible to track a flash drive?” He didn’t wait for Brandon’s answer. He’d seen crazier things than someone implanting a tracking device on a drive housing important files. He jerked the laptop from where it was stored. He brought his shoulder up, using it to hold the phone against his cheek so he’d have both hands free. He balanced the laptop against the steering wheel the best
he could and raised the screen. He extended his leg and lifted his hip. The laptop tumbled when he tried to reach into his pocket to retrieve the flash drives Ellie had given him.

  On the cell, Brandon’s voice was muffled, apparently posing Booker’s question to someone else.

  Beside him Ellie shifted. “Give me that,” she snapped. She took the laptop and settled it against her thighs.

  Booker didn’t argue. “Power it up.”

  The glare she sent him said his demand hadn’t earned him any favors. The plan formulating in his head probably wouldn’t either.

  She held his stare, her expression full of piss and vinegar as she deliberately punched the power button.

  His dick went hard in an instant.

  Awesome. Just what he needed. To be turned on by her sass.

  He jammed his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the drives. He gave his traitorous cock a shove on the retreat to keep from getting pinched when he lowered back to the seat.

  Doing his best to ignore what was going on down south he passed her the drives. “Copy the entire contents of these onto the laptop. Be quick about it. We need to keep moving.”

  He checked the rearview. Nothing but trees.

  She snatched them from his hand. “You’ve become a real ass, you know that? Would it kill you to say please?”

  No, baby, it wouldn’t, but I like it better when you say it.

  Christ. Where the hell had that come from?

  “Alec says it’s possible to implant a tracking device on just about anything.” Brandon’s voice rang loud and clear in Booker’s ear, distracting him from his own personal hell. “Please tell me you have a way to copy the files and ditch the drives. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Already on it.”

  Booker shoved open the door. Palm up, he held his hand out to Ellie. He kept his gaze glued to their surroundings and waited until he felt the weight of the devices being dropped into his palm. Or slapped. Whatever. Once he had them he was out of the truck and on his knees, burying the drives in the dirt.

  “Can Alec ping my exact location within the next twenty seconds?” He brushed off his hands on his pants and stood over the buried drives, waiting. He didn’t want to hang around any longer than absolutely necessary.

  There was more shuffling on the line. “Yep. Hang on. There. He’s got you.”

  “Make note of the coordinates in case we need to recover the drives, although I don’t know how good they’ll be after being in the wet ground. And we should let the guys know this location has been compromised.”

  “By ‘we’ you mean me?”

  “Obviously.”

  Brandon laughed. “Yeah, sure, dickhead. I’ll handle it.”

  “One of the guys should stay with Ketcher, just in case. And would you go over to Abuelita’s and keep an eye on things until we know what’s going on?” Booker’s grandmother loved Brandon. Considered him part of the family. More importantly, Brandon’s appearance wouldn’t cause suspicion. Booker didn’t want to worry them if there was no cause. Right now, he had no idea if there was cause or not.

  “And what are you going to do?”

  Get as far away from Texas as he could. There was only one place they could go where he could keep Ellie safe while he figured out what the hell was going on.

  “Sorry, man, but it looks like I’m going to need your truck a while longer. I’m going home, and I’m taking Ellie with me.”

  Chapter Six

  Ellie thought they would continue the discussion they’d been forced to leave unfinished, but she was sadly mistaken. Booker didn’t show any interest in discussing … well, anything. Not even where they were going except for a grumbled “Montana.”

  She hadn’t asked any more questions.

  Two hours into the mystery road trip of silence they stopped at a truck stop, where Booker bought her a pair of flip flops for her bare feet, and a hot meal in the attached restaurant. Where they ate in, yep, silence.

  Six hours into the trip they stopped for gas. Using one and two syllable words to communicate, Booker escorted her to the restroom, waited outside the door for her to finish, and then escorted her back to the truck.

  As though she were a child.

  The ten-hour mark found them inside a discount store, where Booker upped his syllable count to insist she put whatever she needed into the cart—clothes, toiletries, shoes, snacks, whatever. Since her wallet was in the duffel bag back at the cottage, she didn’t have much choice but to allow him to pay for the toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, a pair of sleep shorts, a four-pack of ribbed cotton tank tops in various colors, and a six-pack of boy short style panties. His jaw had tightened as she’d thrown the last item into the cart. Well, to hell with him. She would pay back every cent the minute she had access to her bank account.

  By the time they rolled into a motel parking lot outside of Pueblo, Ellie’s nerves were shot. Thirteen hours of uncomfortable silence and side glances were more than she could take. She had no idea what was going on in that head of his, and right now, she didn’t give a damn.

  She wanted out of the truck. She wanted a hot shower and a comfortable bed. Most of all, she wanted away from him.

  Booker stopped in front of a door marked Office and let the truck idle. With his hand on the door handle he turned to her. “Don’t move.”

  She was going to fucking choke him.

  She had no money. No mode of transport other than him, and she was umpteen miles away from home. She was totally dependent and didn’t like it one bit.

  Pouring every ounce of irritation she could muster into her glare, Ellie turned to him. “And just where the hell do you think would I go?”

  He leaned over, close enough she could see the flecks of yellow gold in his eyes. Could smell the faint scent of the cinnamon candies he’d spent the last hundred miles eating. Without her consent her gaze dropped to his mouth. His tongue darted out, wetting his full bottom lip. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

  “Be careful, Ellie. One day that sassy mouth of yours might get you into trouble.” His voice was low and steady. Seductive.

  Her body loosened, heated, stirred between her legs.

  From the first time he kissed her, Booker had been able to do that to her. Ramp her up. Play to her senses. Turn her on like no man before or after, and then make her fly.

  No. There will be no ramping. No playing. No flying.

  Ellie almost groaned.

  God, she missed sex. She missed the intimacy of being held and touched and stroked. The feeling of warm skin pressed against her, inside her.

  One side of Booker’s mouth curled slowly upward.

  Hers went the opposite direction.

  Damn him. What kind of game was he playing? Teasing her was nothing short of cruel after he’d basically laid the entire responsibility of their failed marriage at her feet.

  “Not today.” She turned her burning cheeks away. She hoped he took the gesture as a dismissal and not what it really was—an attempt to hide the embarrassment of being so easily aroused.

  “Don’t be so sure,” he growled and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.

  Ellie groaned and covered her eyes in frustration. Though if she were being completely honest, she also did it to stop herself from staring at Booker’s firm ass.

  Stop it.

  Clearly, the years of unintentional abstinence were messing with her head. Booker was a gorgeous man with a body built for pleasure. Of course she would respond. What woman wouldn’t?

  He probably had a string of women lined up, waiting for a turn with him.

  The thought shouldn’t bother her, but it did. A lot.

  Booker climbed back into the truck and drove them around the back of the motel, parking close to the curb.

  Ellie held out her hand. “May I please have the key to my room?”

  He held up a single key attached to a large plastic rectangle with the number 117 embl
azoned in gold on one side. “You mean our room?”

  Oh no. She’d shared enough space with him for one day, thank you very much.

  “I want my own room. I’ll pay you back for the expenses. Not just for the room. For everything.”

  Ellie climbed from the truck. She opened the rear door on the extended cab and wrapped her fingers around the handles of the shopping bags. Booker opened the opposite door and met her gaze.

  “Not gonna happen,” he said. “Not on either count.” He grabbed the olive-green duffel bag from the cottage and slung it over one shoulder. He tucked the laptop under his arm. “If memory serves, the last time I turned my back on you didn’t turn out so well for me. I’m not looking for a repeat performance, so you’ll have to forgive me if, for the time being, I don’t let you out of my sight.”

  The man was exhausting.

  “The last time didn’t work out so well for me, either. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop insinuating what happened between us was easy for me. I assure you, it wasn’t.” Why? She wanted to scream at him. Why didn’t you trust me enough to talk to me? Why didn’t you fight for me? For us? “But I see some things never change. You’re still making decisions that affect me without so much as a nod in my direction.”

  His brow arched. “You want to have a discussion about the sleeping arrangements? All right. Let’s talk.” Booker shut the door and came around to her side of the truck. He crossed his beefy arms, his expression firm. “Do you have a weapon?”

  “N-no,” she sputtered. “But—”

  “Any self-defense training?”

  “No. You—”

  “In other words, you don’t have the tools or the experience to defend yourself if a situation arose. Would you agree?”

  “It not that sim—”

  “It’s not an essay question, Ellie. Yes or no.”

  She clenched her fists. A day’s worth of frustration burst from her lips, half growl, half scream. Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She was tempted to argue, but she had no defense.