The Honorable Warrior

by Kimberly Krey

  He gulped, went back to rubbing his hands for a second before perking up. “Okay, a few simple things to start. If you somehow get taken by someone against your will and put into handcuffs of some sort…” He stopped there. Shook his head. “This is dumb. We probably don’t need to even do it because I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”

  “I know,” she assured. “But this is just in case. Okay? Besides, you did this for your mom’s church group; I’m sure none of them were under any certain threat. These are just good things for women to know, right?”

  Blayze closed his eyes longer than a normal blink would warrant, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right. So, if someone straps your wrists together, in front or behind you, there might be a way to get out.”

  “How?” she asked.

  He reached out, took hold of her wrists, binding the two of them together by wrapping one hand solidly around them. They looked small compared to his large, muscular hands.

  “Duct tape or zip ties—not the kind police officers use, but the hardware type—you can break through either of those things by simply lifting your hands up and away from your body, then slamming them back down against your hip.”

  She nodded, lifted both of her arms up and brought them gently back down to bump her hip. Blayze released his grip. “That simple move will break either of those things.”

  “How do I do that if they’re behind me?”

  Blayze shuffled around to stand behind her. “Easy,” he said, his breath hot against the back of her neck. She hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose over her skin in response.

  He took hold of her wrists once more, this time from behind. “Lift them away from you. It feels odd, but you just pull back as far as you can, then ram them against your back.”

  She did as he said, slowly at first, and Blayze removed his hand once more. She practiced the action a few times without his help. “I guess I can see how that’d work.”

  “Okay, now for a few more… physical ones,” he said.

  Sophia took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down the front of her tank top. “Okay then. But I warn you, I’m an overachiever, so don’t underestimate me.”

  Blayze chuckled under his breath. “Underestimate you?” He shook his head, leveled a look at her. “Never.”

  Her heart galloped like a horse in pursuit; another point in the Blayze-had-legitimate-feelings-for-her camp.

  “In the case of an attack,” he continued, “the most important thing to remember is this: Even if someone is physically stronger than you are, you can immobilize them by targeting weak spots on the body. Do you know what they are?”

  She shrugged. “Everybody knows, don’t they? You knee a guy in the crotch if you’re in trouble.”

  He grinned. “That’s definitely a very effective area, yes. But depending on how the attacker comes at you, that might not be an option. The main target points are eyes, nose, neck, groin, knees, and shins. We’ll just go through some quick scenarios. Step back until you’re against the house.” He motioned to the side logs of the cabin wall.

  Sophia traded places with Blayze, taking a few steps back until she was flush against it.

  Blayze stepped toward her and rolled his shoulders back a few times, looking bothered suddenly. “Okay, let’s say an attacker comes at you straight-on and pins you against a wall like this…” He straightened his arms toward her, wrapped his hands around her neck, then froze.

  She gulped. “Okay…”

  But he didn’t continue, only shook his head. “If anyone hurts you, Sophia, I swear…” His hands went limp. The color drained from his face. “Maybe I should let Roman teach you this. I don’t think I can handle it.” His thumb traced the hollow of her neck. Sophia could already see the wheels in his head turning. If he didn’t feel confident about their position, he’d try preventing her from speaking at the final event. She couldn’t have that.

  She took hold of his hands, lifted them from her throat and gave them a shake. “Sure, you can. Maybe this will help…” Sophia hoisted her knee up with a loud hi-yah, coming dangerously close to striking him in the groin.

  “Whoa!” Blayze jerked back with a grunt. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she cheered, raising a fist. “Hooyah!”

  He seemed to snap further from his brooding. Enough to go over a series of useful tips. Ways to dig her thumbs into an attacker’s eyes, hit the nose for maximum impact, and several other moves she could use to temporarily disable an attacker.

  “One way to really get ‘em—if you’re face to face like this—is to dip your head down just enough to get under the attacker’s chin, then jump and ram it with your head. You’ll have the force of your weight behind it, and it should stun them enough for you to run away.”

  Next, Blayze moved to a different scenario—dealing with an armed attacker. “If someone puts a gun at your head, you’re going to want to grab it from them. But just know that it will definitely go off the moment you touch it. It’s pretty much guaranteed. So, you have to duck out of the line of fire first, and fast.” He gave her a nod. “Pretend to put a gun to my forehead.”

  Sophia clasped her hands together to make a gun shape and nudged the makeshift barrel between his eyes. She resisted the voice that told her how likely it was that Blayze had had guns aimed at him in such a manner.

  “You’re going to duck, grab, and kick.” Blayze ducked his head, grabbed the gun, and extended a leg to feign kicking her. “The grab and kick can be simultaneous, but you have to get your head out of the line of fire first. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Sophia said.

  “One last thing,” Blayze said. “The grab is kind of a two-part move, because you need to point the gun up as you grab it. Let’s try it a few times.”

  He made a gun shape with his hands and rested the makeshift pistol against her forehead.

  Sophia grabbed it with both hands, moved to point it upward but was startled when Blayze hollered, “Bang!”

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, irritated.

  “Because you grabbed the gun before you got out of the way.” His face turned hard. “I’m not kidding when I say the gun will go off. It will. And if it’s still pointed at your head, it’s over.”

  The severity of what he was saying started to sink in.

  “Fine,” she said, working to shake the irritation cycling through her. He could’ve at least given her a few chances to go over it.

  He moved into position again. “Tell me what you’re going to do before you do it. Talk it out. That should help you remember.”

  “Duck.” She buckled her knees, dropping out of aim in a blink. “Grab and point up… kick!” She acted each out in turn before he assumed position once more.

  “Again.”

  She repeated the sequence a few more times before Roman hollered from the kitchen.

  “Made to order omelets, ready to go.”

  Blayze stepped back from Sophia and looked her up and down.

  A trace of heat fluttered over her skin anew.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Let’s go get some food.” He opened the door and motioned for her to go first. She went, nearly forgetting all about her objection to doing that very thing.

  She considered that as Roman handed over a gorgeously loaded omelet, the aroma causing her mouth to water. It seemed that Blayze had somehow—like her father—worked his way into that sacred part of her heart. The part that fully trusted.

  In one sense, Sophia liked knowing that; Blayze Brockton was an incredible man. The stuff true warriors were made from. And his acts of chivalry were decent and pure. But to know she’d let him into such a deep place… something about the idea scared her. Sure, he’d proven to be attracted to her, physically at least. But what if that’s all there was? What if she’d jumped headfirst into the deep end, while he’d somehow kept his feelings to the shallow side of the pool?

  “Well, should we say grace?” Roman
asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Sophia glanced up. Nodded. And watched Blayze cup his hands and bow his head. While Roman said grace, Sophia sent a thoughtful prayer of her own. God, don’t let me fall too deep. Though she feared it was a little late for that.

  Chapter 16

  Sophia draped the dishcloth over the faucet to dry before reaching for the hand towel Blayze held out for her. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  The place had gone from loud and buzzing to crickets chirping as soon as their chef-for-the-day took his exit. Roman, who —in his words—took pride in feeding the tribe— had marched off to the pond again, fishing pole and tackle in hand, hoping to score a few more fish for tonight’s dinner. Leaving she and Blayze to themselves once more.

  They’d done the dishes without even the appearance of small talk. Sophia had been wrapped too deeply in her own head. Recalling the kiss they’d shared in that very spot the other night. Only this time she looked back on it differently. Scrutinizing each move for a distinction between lust and love.

  Which was foolish. Could love really be an option so soon?

  “About those leads,” Blayze said, breaking into the quiet. “I can go over those with you now, if you’d like.”

  Sophia hung the hand towel back in its place at the oven. “Sure,” she said. “That’d be great.”

  Blayze snatched the iPad off the counter and headed into the family room, taking a seat on the couch by the fireplace.

  Instead of snuggling up beside Blayze, Sophia opted to sit across from him on the coffee table.

  “Okay,” he started, “we were able to narrow it down to half-a-dozen suspects who had three things in common.

  “One, they lost all their money due to their conviction. And two, they expressed a specific frustration that your father let their case go to trial. In other words, they blamed him. Most people are angry at witnesses, judges, heck—even their own lawyer for not defending them well enough. So, this was a pretty small field, which is a good thing.”

  “Okay,” Sophia urged.

  “The third is timeframe. Anywhere from the time your father got into the DA’s office and the day of your mother’s death.”

  Sophia nodded, already trying to picture what the half-dozen faces might look like.

  “I flushed out some important details on each,” Blayze continued, “and cut that number in half, leaving us with what I believe are the three most likely suspects.”

  “How’d you do that?” she asked. “Let me guess… your mind maps?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yep. Fail-proof method. I’ve already asked our tracking team to find out where they are now, and what they’ve been doing over the last few years.” He tapped at the iPad screen until an image came up. A mug shot of an older man with thinning hair. “This guy’s name is Leo Smalls. He was prosecuted for insurance fraud.”

  Sophia tested the sound of his name in her mind. Could he be the one who ran her mother off the road that day?

  “What stands out most about this guy are the dates,” Blayze said. “Mr. Smalls was sentenced to twenty-four months in prison shortly after your father got put into office. Smalls ended up serving a little over seventeen months, which put him out of jail two days before your mother’s death. We can’t find any other connection between him and your father, besides the letter of complaint, but the dates are just too suspicious to ignore. Also, the guy’s kind of a loner. No wife or kids. I imagine he lost some of his rich friends in everything. People are more likely to do crazy things when they don’t have someone in their lives to ground them, you know?”

  “That makes sense,” she said with a nod. “So, Leo Smalls. Who else?” Sophia didn’t know what she expected to feel, but she couldn’t help but think she’d have some sort of inner reaction to seeing her mother’s killer. As if she’d know him when she saw him.

  “Next we have Dr. Shawn Hernandez. He’s a plastic surgeon who was convicted of malpractice following a class action lawsuit. The women claimed he’d left scarring during an assortment of surgeries. It was too small a group to allow for a class action, but your father reviewed it, determined it should go to trial, and the doctor was later found guilty.

  “Hernandez lost everything, including his right to practice. The time frame fits with this guy, but what makes him more suspect is the fact that his wife, who’s a good twenty years younger, later wrote a seething letter to your father. She said she expected your father to protect someone of similar heritage, and that a case like his should never have made it past the DA. In this case, I suspect the wife as much as I do the doctor himself.”

  The idea of the hostile being a woman didn’t sit right with Sophia. She studied Dr. Hernandez’s photo. Kind eyes, round face, and a bulbous nose that made the man—though he was most likely in his fifties—look childlike.

  “Okay,” Sophia said, her stomach growing sick. “So, who’s the last guy?”

  Blayze swiped the screen and turned to her, a determined look in his eyes. “This guy raises more red flags than all of them.”

  Sophia leaned her elbows on her thighs to close the gap, taking in the face on the screen. A man in his early forties, maybe. Pale skin. Dark hair. Clean shaven. Light green eyes. Eyes that almost looked familiar.

  “Charles Locklear. This guy was filthy rich. He had a massive home in L.A., in addition to several elite cars, a private helicopter with a license to fly, and a dozen vacation homes. He was found guilty of fraud.

  “Basically, he would create false hype over a specific stock. The value would rise with the artificial demand, and then Charles would hurry and sell his stock while the value was high. At some point, the new stockholder would find out they hadn’t made a good investment after all. Anyway—here’s the kicker—he was a big supporter of your father.”

  Sophia lifted a brow. The photo, though it was obviously a mug shot, looked like the face of a man she’d seen at one of her father’s parties. “Does he have a family?”

  Blayze nodded. “A wife and two sons. He made a practice of rubbing shoulders with the wealthy. When people in his circle lost big on the stock he suggested, he’d say he had an error in judgment and that he lost too. They were rich, they liked the guy, and he was big on donating to their causes. That’s why he pulled it off for so long.”

  “Huh,” she said, giving that some thought. “So, do you think he and my father were friends?”

  “Your dad said they weren’t any closer than a lot of his supporters. The guy was a real schmoozer, the friends-with-everyone type.”

  “But if he invested in my father in order to get him in the district attorney’s office,” Sophia said as it linked together, “then he might have sensed somebody was on to him. He was probably counting on my father to repay a favor by dismissing his case before it got to trial.”

  Blayze nodded. “Exactly. But here’s the most chilling part. His parole date was set for a week before your mother’s death.”

  Sophia threw a hand over her mouth, her heart pounding out a sickened beat as she took in the man’s face on the screen. “That’s got to be him.”

  “A lot of times prisoners are released prior to their parole dates, so we’ll have to investigate that further. But at this point he’s my prime suspect. My guys are trying to locate these men now, get an update on where they’re living, working, that type of thing. That alone could narrow this down even further. If all three leads go cold we’ll go back to the other three and take a closer look at them.”

  “Wow,” she said, her head getting light suddenly. “Sounds like you’ve really got some solid leads then… that’s good.” A thick bout of nausea rolled through her stomach as she stood up from her spot at the coffee table. “Thanks for going over those with me,” she managed.

  “Wait, are you okay?” Blayze’s voice, though drenched in concern, sounded a million miles away as she circled the couch. He was at her side in a blink, one arm around her back, the other cradling an elbow.

&nbs
p; “I’m fine,” she assured. “I’m just… going to take a bath now.” She hurried toward the hallway with numb legs and tingly, half-asleep feet. Perhaps the warm water would counter the chill in her blood. Thoughts of a man out for revenge. Driving her mother off the road. Something she still hadn’t let herself accept was hitting her in the gut like a sucker punch. Perhaps she was a sucker for thinking that—maybe, despite the threats—it’d only been an accident after all. But seeing those faces, hearing Blayze talk about each guy and their past… all of it made the situation more real than it’d been the day before.

  That, coupled with the new doubts in her head about Blayze’s feelings for her, and Sophia suddenly felt very far from solid ground.

  Once the water was running, loud enough to cover up the sound, Sophia dropped to her knees and let the tears flow too, giving in to the longing ache in her heart. I miss you so much, Mom.

  Dread. Blayze couldn’t remember being gripped by such an overwhelming amount of it. And he’d had a lot to dread over his lifetime. Everything from torturous training, firefights, and even his mother’s prognosis. But there was something about this situation that wrecked him in an entirely new way. Perhaps he thought—before this case came along—that he’d made it through the more difficult parts of his life. That he could exhale for a while. But as he thought of Sophia Vasco, the sensational woman she was, he couldn’t take the idea of seeing her harmed.

  He pulled his elbows onto the railing along the deck where he faced the great span of redwoods. Mighty and tall, like an army of its own. Managing to shade the bulk of the patio, despite the sun’s best efforts to peek through the thick leaves and woven, bark-covered branches. He breathed in the crisp aroma, hoping to distract himself if only for a moment.

  If he looked over his shoulder, he’d see Sophia sitting up to the table, practicing her speech on Roman. As it was he could hear her, combatting all the things her father’s opponent had claimed.

  Blayze didn’t dare speak it aloud yet, but he wanted to put his foot down about the upcoming speech. The one he’d promised to not interfere with back on day one. He’d have to be sneaky about it, talk to her father and Roman and get them on board, something he’d been contemplating from the moment she’d started rehearsing her speech that morning. Eight hours later and Blayze was still chomping at the bit.