by Misty Evans
Mitch grabbed his laptop and plunked on the couch. Emma stared at him. “What?” he said.
“I dictate my notes. You’ll need to go downstairs.”
“Sorry, Doc, not gonna happen. Where you are, I am.”
“Patient confidentiality requires—”
“Protecting you requires I stay within five feet of your physical presence.”
“Since when?”
He gave her a snarky smile. “Since I deemed it necessary five minutes ago. You have two potential stalkers at this point who’ve both made threats against your life. I’m not going anywhere, and no offense, but I couldn’t care less about your patient, so suck it up.”
“You don’t need to be in the same room with me. At least step out into the hall and give me some privacy.”
Pepper came and laid down at his feet. Salt stayed by Emma. Both of them watched her as Mitch opened his laptop and searched for the satellite connection. “Nope.”
The dogs looked at him.
So did Emma, giving him a penetrating stare as she drew out her chair and sat. “Why are you being difficult about this?”
Back the dogs’ heads went to look at her.
Difficult? She hadn’t seen difficult yet. “You’re the one refusing to let me take you somewhere safe. This is the best compromise I can make.”
“Did you throw temper tantrums when you were little and didn’t get your way?”
And ho-boy, how did she know that? “Who’s deflecting now? Do you always redirect the situation to psycho-analyzing when you’re challenged?”
There it was, that patient smile. “You did throw tantrums, but someone somewhere along the way taught you the strategies of passive-aggressive behavior.”
Thank you, Mommy Dearest. “Actually, it’s not passive-aggressive behavior I’m practicing right now. It’s called a tactical maneuver and I learned it from my brother. If you want me to give you some space, pack up your things and let me take you to the safe house. I’ll give you all the space you need once we’re there.”
No patient smile this time. Her glare was pure frustration.
After a tense moment, it passed. She clicked a key on her computer keyboard and Mitch heard a faint ding.
Emma Collins started dictating.
Holden 1, Collins 0.
Chapter Six
An hour later, Emma removed her pistol from the gun cabinet where she’d locked it prior to Danika’s arrival. She stuck the handgun in her leather holster, grabbed a box of bullets, and returned the shotgun to its home over the front door.
“Where are you going?” Mitch said as he followed her outside.
The midday sun was warm overhead, though smoke from the fires clouded the sky. She headed for the barn, the dogs running ahead. “Shooting practice.”
His long legs ate up the ground, keeping up with her with no problem. “Excuse me?”
“I thought it might be a good idea to brush up on some target practice.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You’re welcome to join me.”
The bullheaded son-of-a-bitch was cute but annoying. He’d sat and scanned fan forums, complaining nonstop about her lousy satellite Internet service while she tried to concentrate and dictate her notes. Finally, in order to drown him out, she’d slapped in her earbuds and cranked some meditation instrumentals to lower her blood pressure while she typed up an analysis of Danika’s mood and emailed it to the girl’s caseworker.
It took three tries, but finally the e-mail went through.
The landline and cellular service continued to play havoc with communications and Mitch had been unable to speak to Victor or his team of fellow agents. He’d sent several e-mails and texts but hadn’t received any replies.
“You have a secure shooting range out here?” He shaded his eyes as he looked around the property.
There was nothing in the woods but wild animals, so secure was a matter of perspective.
The barn was cool and shadowed. Twinkie raised his head at the sound of them entering. Second Chance and her foal were still outside.
“In the woods.” Emma stroked Twinkie’s neck as she went by, murmuring soothing words to him as she hauled his saddle from the wall and secured it on his back.
“The woods.” Mitch crossed his arms and looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “That seems like a safe place to go when two people are gunning for you. What are you, a glutton for punishment? A too-stupid-to-live heroine in a horror flick? There’s a killer on the loose who’s coming after you, and oh, yeah, there’s a forest fire blazing out of control a few miles from here, so let’s go into the woods.”
The sarcasm in his voice could have peeled the paint from the barn walls if they’d had any. Emma tightened the cinch on Twinkie’s saddle and made sure his bit was secure. “My woods are on the southeast side, a half mile or so from the ranch and even farther away from the forest fires than we are right here. We’re both well-armed. I don’t see how that compares to a movie heroine with questionable decision making skills or someone with a victim or martyr complex.”
He stood there, staring at her as if she suddenly turned into an alien or was speaking a different language. “I stand by my earlier assessment that you’re nuts.”
She half smiled to herself, grabbing a second saddle for Igor, the old gelding standing in a patch of sunlight. “I understand your reluctance to be here, Agent Holden, and I hope we can resolve this situation soon, but until then, would you rather I cower in the house or take you out for a round of gun practice? Special agents like yourself have to stay sharp, right? Regular practice at the range and all.”
Glancing over her shoulder as she saddled up Igor, she saw the slightest tick in his jaw. “We should be figuring out where Brown and Goodsman are hiding out, what kind of vehicle they might be driving, and who might be helping them.”
“You said there was nothing more in the fan forums, and we have limited internet access, so that seems like a further waste of time to me.” Emma patted the gelding’s neck and handed Mitch the reins. “Agent Holden, meet Igor. After we get back from target practice, I’ll give you my notes on Chris from my sessions with him. I also have quite a collection of research on Linda and her obsession with the show. Maybe it will give you insight. Deal?”
A heartbeat of silence. “Would you really shoot Goodsman if he showed up here?”
She hauled herself up onto Twinkie’s back. “I can and I will if necessary.”
“What about the shotgun? I thought you were going to use that to do it. What’s with this sudden need to take your pistol out and shoot it?”
The truth felt like a rough pebble in her throat. “I haven’t shot my Smith and Wesson in two years. It saved my life then and it may have to again.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. The tick in his jaw sped up. His face hardened even more but his voice came out softer, more sincere. “Goodsman’s fan? The one you mentioned earlier?”
“Someone attacked me and I stopped them. I don’t take shooting anything—human, animal, even a can—lightly, but in the event that my life, or the life of someone I love, is threatened, you’re damn skippy I’m pulling the trigger.”
A sly grin crossed his lips. “I like you, Dr. Collins. You’re as crazy as your patients, but then maybe you have to be to survive all that shit you have to listen to from them.”
He didn’t know the half of it. “You’re starting to get the picture, Agent. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
“Couple times.” He kicked a boot into Igor’s stirrup and hoisted himself up. “You a good shot?”
A laugh bubbled up from her throat. “Hell, no. That’s why I use a shotgun.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Then maybe we oughta bring that shotgun, you think?”
She steered Twinkie out of the barn. “You’re my shotgun on this trip.”
The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
Mitch’s nerves were already on edge, and the
absolute, unnatural silence amplified every twig snap under his horse’s feet, every snort the animal gave as they wound their way along the creek, then across it to the other side of the woods.
Mitch kept an eye out for animals, saw none. Not a bird tweeting, not a rabbit munching grass or a mouse scavenging for food. Scared off by the wildfires, most likely.
They were going in deep, Emma leading the way through spruce and fir trees on Twinkie.
Twinkie, Igor, Second Chance. Salt, Pepper, Lady.
Three adult horses, three dogs. Symmetry.
The doctor seemed to like that. Everything in her house had a symmetry to it—the pictures, her clothes, the way she laid food out on a plate. Even the cadence of her voice, the way she walked. All of it was in balance with life, her environment. She was currently working hard to maintain that, and after what he’d gleaned from the information she’d given earlier, plus the police report he’d managed to pull up from two years ago, he now fully understood why.
It was no wonder she was fighting so hard not to leave the ranch and show fear or uncertainty. A part of him understood that. He respected her staunchness. He’d been there a few times himself.
But God Almighty, he wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and get the hell out of here.
Balance and stability were not qualities he’d ever admired. His mother had tried to create that type of life for him and Mac. On the surface, she’d succeeded, but at great personal cost. All the struggling to pay bills and make ends meet had meant they hadn’t seen her much. He respected the fact she’d worked her tail off to keep them in decent shoes and food on the table, but when she’d had downtime, it had never involved them. She never came to a baseball game or a school event, never took them anywhere. When she was off work, she stayed in bed or went out with a man.
Boyfriend of the week, he and Mac had dubbed the ones who’d hung on longer than one night. A few of them actually made it longer than a week.
Up ahead, Emma let Twinkie walk at his own pace, her soft voice talking sweetly as she guided the poor horse on a dirt path as narrow as a stripper’s G-string. No fear in that woman. Even though Cooper had alerted Mitch to the fact they’d had a call from a witness saying they’d spotted Goodsman and Brown forty miles south of the transport van incident, Mitch wasn’t letting his guard down. Eye witnesses were often wrong. Until Goodsman was in cuffs and back in prison, Mitch was keeping a close eye on his charge.
Emma wasn’t backing down, foolhardy as it was. No cowering on her end. Instead, she was going to brush up on her use of lethal force.
His kind of woman.
“Where does this trail lead?” he called.
She didn’t slow, didn’t look back. “It meanders around for a few miles, then merges with an old logging trail into the park. The logging trail was used before the park became state owned.”
Hmm. “How far is it until you enter the park?”
She shrugged. “Seven or eight miles. Maybe more. Why?”
Mitch’s gaze landed on her braid, dropped down to her ass cupped in the saddle. The sway of the horse’s body rocked hers, showcasing her comfortable posture and sexy curves. “I’m supposed to be figuring out who set the fire in the park and which way they went.”
His mind drifted back to the dream he’d had the previous night. Emma on his motorcycle, naked, her long legs gripping the seat, then gripping him as he pounded into her. His imagination took over, bending her over the bike seat so he could get his fill of that sweet ass of hers.
A bird called from far off, bringing him back to reality and making his tension ease a bit. A bird was good. Meant the fires were far enough away that animals felt safe again.
A hundred yards ahead, he saw a clearing with a felled tree and a collection of tin cans on the ground. He dodged a low-hanging pine branch as Igor plodded along on the not-so-smooth trail.
Emma guided Twinkie off the path to a small outcropping of bushes. She hopped down and tied the horse to a tree. “We’ll leave the horses here. They’re used to gunshots, but no sense agitating them unnecessarily.”
He’d known her less than two days, but already he recognized her modus operandi. Calm, patient, serene—keeping those around her, whether animal or human, the same way.
Was it pretense or did it come naturally, this even-tempered, unruffled persona? What would it take to make her lose it, he wondered.
He also wondered if he had it in him to find out.
Mitch tied up Igor, shutting down his errant, pornographic thoughts and keeping an eye on the woods around them. Twigs and pinecones snapped under his feet. The trees were good cover and the underbrush would give away anyone who attempted to sneak up on them.
Another plus.
Emma left him behind, heading for the felled tree and tin cans. As he watched from the protection of the trees, she set up the cans on the log, then backed up twenty paces and checked her gun.
Satisfied, she eyed her target. Her chest expanded, then stilled as she raised the S&W and aimed at the first can.
No rushing. A balanced stance. Self-confidence radiating off her. She looked as competent as any agent at the firing range.
Pfft, the gun discharged, a bullet whizzing at her target.
Dead pine needles and dust mushroomed into the air where the bullet hit the ground.
Another breath and she moved her hand ever so slightly, realigning.
Pfft.
Another miss, this one coming closer and digging into the dead bark of the tree.
A sigh of defeat escaped her lips and she looked over her shoulder at him. An embarrassed, tight smile trembled on her lips. “See what I mean?”
“Do you need your glasses?” he joked.
It wasn’t really a joke. He hated that frustrated smile, the defeat in her voice. Everything she was doing seemed spot on. Her vision, however, might not be the culprit. He’d seen it plenty of times before.
“Only when reading,” she replied. “Distance vision is 20/20. Any other ideas?”
Walking over to her, he checked her weapon’s site, found nothing wrong. “Take your firing stance again.”
She did and he tucked himself behind her, peering over her shoulder. She smelled like citrus and horses and good, clean air, and hell on wheels, he breathed that sweet scent deep into his lungs, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment.
Snap out of it.
But he couldn’t. It’d been so damn long since he’d been intrigued by a woman. Since he’d found one who was good at getting him to forget the never-ending pain and grief lodged under his breastbone.
“Mitch?”
Her soft voice brought his eyes open. He cleared his throat. She glanced at him from her peripheral vision, keeping her gun aimed at the cans. “Is everything alright?”
Wanting to touch her, he put his hands on her shoulders—just a light touch—to make her relax a bit. “See that bird on the red can’s label?”
Her breath hitched, her body tightening ever so slightly under his touch. She swung her gaze back to the can, her voice coming out higher, lighter. “Yep, got it.”
“Let the can, the tree, everything else fall away.” He removed his hands but kept close to her, enjoying the feel of her heat, the way his presence had the pulse under her ear jumping. “Concentrate on the eye of the bird, Emma. Just that and that alone.”
She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “Have you taught many people to shoot?”
Too many. Hell, he’d taught Mac all those years ago, and look what good that had done.
Blinking, he barred the ugly memories from derailing this moment in the woods with a beautiful woman. Moments like this were too few and far between. “Focus.”
Another tiny nod. Her fingers flexed as she adjusted her grip. Deep breath—
Mitch stepped back.
—Pfft!
The clang of the bullet hitting the tin can rang out, echoing in the clearing.
Emma lowered the gun and whirled,
a giant smile on her face. “I did it!”
She hadn’t hit the eye, but she’d nailed the can, and that was what mattered. He smiled back, liking the bubble of delight enveloping her face as she laughed. “You doubt my coaching skills?”
“You’re a fine teacher, Agent Holden.”
Oh, the things he wanted to teach her. “A teacher is only as good as his student.”
She stepped toward him, still smiling. “Did you learn that in agent school?”
The teasing was heavy in her tone. No one had teased him in a long time, and she was good at it. Initially, he’d found it annoying, but now…
Still, he took a step back, needing space to keep him from grabbing her and kissing her. “Actually, I learned it from a superior.”
“Victor?”
“Cooper Harris.”
She took another step toward him and he suddenly felt like a mouse being preyed on by a cat. “Sounds like quite a guy.”
He stood his ground this time. “He is.”
Her gaze traveled over his face. She licked her bottom lip and the sweet, hot flare of desire shot to his groin. “Any other tips you want to share with me?”
He could think of a few. Or a hundred. All of them involving her with fewer clothes on. “Practice, practice, practice.”
She hmmed on a smiling sigh. “I think it’s your turn, isn’t it?”
Silence hung in the air between them. God, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to back her up against one of these ancient pines while he kissed that coy smile off her face. His body ached to find relief in her steady comfort. Her patience.
Even her teasing.
As she stood before him, waiting, totally open with no hidden agenda that he could detect, and every one of her nonverbal cues giving him a green light, he still hesitated. This was a job, not a quickie in the woods with a woman he could walk away from when they were both satisfied. He was here to protect her and instead, here he was, completely distracted by her.
Her life depended on him; that’s why he was here.
The sharp knife of guilt, always mixed with his inexplicable grief, stole his breath for a moment. Mac had needed him, too. Had been depending on him to keep him safe, alive.
