by Sable Hunter
He expected an argument–but to his surprise, she merely nodded and set off. The first couple of times she made the run, she did it fairly slowly. He smirked. This would be over before he knew it, there was no way she’d last. He stood at the top and let his eyes follow the movements of her graceful body. But instead of slowing down, she hit her stride–and then she sped up. It was as if she’d adapted and was now letting muscle memory take over. Folding his arms over his chest, he watched her. She hadn’t worn shorts as he expected. Even in this weather, running could heat you up until you were ready to tear the clothes from your body. Natasha had chosen to don yoga pants and a long sleeve T-shirt which was now sticking to her body and molding a beautiful pair of high, round tits. He swallowed hard. Unlike him, her clothing was obviously not chosen to hide a defect in her body. To his discontent, Deacon noted his dick had perked up and taken notice.
When she showed no signs of slowing down, the little demon which had sat on his shoulder since Afghanistan whispered for him to see how long it would take her to falter. He’d lost count of how many times she’d run the course, but her allotted time had been over for at least five minutes. Not once did she ever raise her head to meet his eyes, nor did she voice one word of complaint. After thirty minutes she stumbled, not falling but catching herself, only to continue on. Hell. Raising the whistle to his lips, he gave a short blast. “Enough.”
Taz heard his clipped word calling for her to stop. She finished the few steps leading to the summit, then bent over, resting her hands on her knees. She was trembling from exertion, but only gave herself a few seconds to recover, allowing her heartbeat to slow down. Straightening, she rejoined her taskmaster who didn’t have a word of praise or anything else for her. Not even water. Of course she knew that in an operation, water wouldn’t necessarily be available either. “Did I pass?”
“Who said we were through?” Pocketing the whistle, he set off running. To give her credit, he only went a few yards before she came alongside, matching his stride. Deacon steeled his expression. Each time his ‘feet’ hit the earth, there was a stinging jar to his stump. Even after years of callousing, there was discomfort. He pushed the pain to the same compartment that housed emotion. Such things were best ignored. After running three miles, he slowed, stopping at a small stand with a locked cabinet. He withdrew a key from his pocket and opened it, handing her a bottled water.
“Thank you.” Natasha was breathing heavily. Sinking to a squat, she opened the bottle and drank thirstily.
“Not too shabby, Levin.”
“Thank you.” She held up the bottle, squinting in the sunshine, gazing into the clear liquid. Giving it a slight squeeze, she muttered dryly. “Aren’t you afraid someone will break the lock, replace it to fool you, then use a hypodermic to put poison into the bottle?”
Well, no. Not till now. “I have cameras and sensors everywhere. No one comes on my property unless I know about it.”
“Unless they are as smart or smarter than you. I could do it,” she said dryly.
He gave her an evil smirk. “We should add that mission to your tasks.”
Taking another swig, she stood. “Good. I can handle it. I want you to test my limits. Push me beyond what you think possible.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Oh, she was going to be sorry. He’d already been planning on pushing her. Now, he intended to see if she could break. “Let’s run back.” He tossed the plastic bottle into a receptacle and she followed suit.
“How many of the team have you trained?”
“I’m not training you, I’m testing you.”
“Semantics.”
“Not really. When I’m training someone, I’m invested in the outcome. A mere test is an evaluation in which I hold no stake. I’m actually hoping you fail. I don’t like women…” He was about to add ‘in military operations’, but she interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.
“That’s what I was told.”
He assumed she realized what he meant. “Someone’s been filling your ear full.” He wasn’t sure he liked it.
“Athena.”
Just as he expected. Get two women together and they immediately bond–henhouse mentality. They ran the three miles back to his compound without speaking more. Deacon was a bit surprised. She was the first woman he’d ever been around who didn’t seem to have the incessant need to constantly hear her own voice.
“Downstairs.” Without giving her a chance to rest, he led her to his exercise room. “Let’s see how you are at pull-ups.” This was a feat few women could master. They didn’t have the upper body strength. Scaling walls, overcoming barriers, finding themselves on the run–all of this was necessary at times in their business. Being able to handle a gun was only half the battle. “Give me thirty.” She probably couldn’t do two–but then he’d thought she couldn’t run the stairs either.
“Just thirty?” She walked to the bars, held up her hand and hopped, catching on. Then, with perfect form, she executed one pull-up after the other. When she’d completed the required number, she let herself drop. “Satisfactory?”
“It’ll do.” He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Watching her pull herself up, that beautiful of body of hers tensing and relaxing–he’d been mesmerized.
Gathering her hair up in one hand, Taz fanned her face with the other. “Now, how about giving me something hard?”
Deacon coughed. Oh, he had something hard he could give her all right… Quickly he turned around before she could see the evidence for herself. “Let’s grab lunch, then we’ll begin again.”
Taz fell into step beside him. “Do you live here alone or do you have a partner?”
A partner? Her odd way of phrasing things must come from her foreign background. “I live alone. I usually work alone.” He cut his eyes toward her, noticing the pretty flush on her creamy skin. “I like it that way.”
“I understand.” She nodded. “I have been alone also, since my father died.” Her mother was dead too, but finding out about Talia Levin’s betrayal had killed Natasha’s grief.
He heard no emotion in her voice, so he didn’t offer any sympathy. “This isn’t going to be fancy. I wasn’t expecting company. All I have is sandwich materials.”
“I don’t mind.” Then her eyes brightened. “I have something to offer. How hungry are you?”
Seeing her pretty smile, those soft lips…he was damn near starving. “I could eat.”
“Great. I’ll meet you inside.” As he started upstairs, she ran to retrieve the BBQ she’d picked up in Austin.
Deacon waited for her. His facial muscles wanted to smile, but he managed to control the impulse. Was it possible he was enjoying her company? Nah. She was a sexy female and he was horny. Very horny. The woman slept in the freakin’ nude! As he began to entertain a fantasy where she climbed into his bed, he heard her returning. Get it together, Jones! He crossed one leg over the other, then winced when he jostled his aching balls.
“Look!” She smiled triumphantly as she laid out brisket, sliced turkey breast and smoked ham. “I even have slaw and beans.”
“Stubbs? Franklins?” He named off a couple of good BBQ restaurants in Austin.
“County Line,” she said with pride. “I’ve been there a few times. You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ve been there. You’re right. This will be good.” He grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter and some paper plates, utensils and napkins. “What do you want to drink?”
“Water.” She selected a couple pieces of brisket and a slice of turkey, leaving most of the meat for him.
“Ice?”
“No, from the faucet is fine,” she answered, arranging the meat on a piece of bread, then anointing it with a few drops of sauce. “What are we going to do next? Target practice?”
She sounded so eager. He had to admit she was nothing like he’d expected. Deacon almost wished he could change his mind about recommending her. But he couldn’t…he just couldn’t
live with the responsibility. He set the glass of water in front of her and sat down with a glass of iced tea. “Disabling a bomb.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Problem?” He was moving this test up in the rotation. The quicker he could get her out of here and tell Grey she wasn’t Omega material, the better off he would be.
“Not at all.” She narrowed her eyes and studied his face, chewing a bite of sandwich slowly. Once she swallowed, she leaned a bit closer. “Do I get a suit?”
She was referring to an ABS, a very thick, very heavy Advanced Bomb Suit designed to protect the body from a blast. “No, this is an exercise in quick thinking.” When she started to ask another question, he just held up his hand. “Just wait and see.”
Taz nodded. “This is nice. Athena was wrong, you’re not scary at all.”
Damn. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Levin. You’ll end up hating me before our time is up.”
Shaking her head, Taz declared. “No. I’ve only hated one man in my life and the energy I devoted to that negative emotion was wasted.”
“Does this have something to do with your missing…?” He stuck out his little finger as if her were sitting down to high tea.
“Yes.” She shrugged her shoulders. “When my father defected, my mother and I were to flee the country by being smuggled out on a cargo ship. The day before we were scheduled to leave, I was snatched from the safe house where we were staying.” Seeing his confused expression, she elaborated. “An American operative was helping us.” She glanced down. “He was killed that day, my mother sold us out. They wanted to use me to make my father give himself up.” She looked down at her own hand. “My finger was part of the incentive.”
“Part?” Deacon felt anger rise in his chest. He’d seen enough torture in the Middle East to know there were endless cruel things people could dream up to hurt one another. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” She shook her head. “That part of my life is over and I now live in a free country. Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”
He wanted to know more, but held his tongue. “Can I have another?” Deacon asked politely pointing at the BBQ.
“Oh, please, take it all.” She held up her remaining half of sandwich. “This is all I want.”
“You’ll need to eat more than that if you plan on keeping up with me.” He let his eyes rove down her body. “Don’t tell me you think you need to watch your weight.”
Taz laid down what was left of her sandwich. “I need to stay fit.”
He was surprised she was so reasonable. Most women were more concerned about meeting some idealized standard of feminine beauty. His wife had been obsessed with being model thin. He’d tried to tell Sylvia he much preferred how she’d been when they first met, soft and curvy. Natasha appeared to be soft and she was definitely curvy, but she had an underlying strength, an iron-will to push beyond anyone’s expectations–especially his. “I agree, but your body has to have calories to burn.”
“I drink protein shakes. And you like the BBQ, I can tell.”
Ah, now he understood. She was being nice to him. Maybe she thought since he was unmarried and lived alone that he didn’t eat well…or maybe she was trying to butter him up. “I see through your smokescreen, Levin. Let’s both have another sandwich, there’s plenty to share.”
“I don’t smoke, that’s really bad for your health.” When Deacon stared at her like she was crazy, Taz conceded. “Okay, a half maybe.” She did want to keep up her energy. Impressing this man with her abilities was her only option.
As before, they ate mostly in silence, her passing him the beans when he stared at the container and him giving her a napkin to wipe a dot of sauce at the corner of her lip. When she’d given him a questioning glance, he’d touched the same spot on his own lip. That move was self-preservation on his part, because he had a huge urge to kiss the sauce away.
As soon as they were finished, he stood. Clean up was done in short order. “Let’s go to my workshop. I’ll set up a scene and give you several tools to work with. We’ll see what happens.”
“Okay.” She’d made a study of this. Taz knew disabling bombs in real life didn’t work like in the movies. Cutting a single wire seldom saved the day. “Is this a real bomb?”
“Well…if you don’t diffuse it properly, I send you back where you came from. So, there’ll be a lot of loud noise either way, if you fail.”
He meant she’d cry. He was wrong. Taz realized he was subtly making fun of her. He didn’t like her very much and there was no flexibility in the man. He was a hard-ass. “Very well. I’m ready.”
“Excellent.” The sooner he got her out of his hair, the better. She was playing hell with his libido. When they were outside, he pointed to the ground. “Why don’t you stop and give me fifty while I get everything ready?”
His comment was phrased like a question, but it wasn’t. She went to the ground to follow his order. Grumbling wasn’t her style, but she did curse him in her mind. The dirt beneath her hands was full of small rocks which were gouging into her flesh. Oh well, this was a mild form of torture–she would survive.
Despite his determination to dislike her, Deacon couldn’t help but admire her attitude. She held nothing back and asked for no leniency, which made him even more curious about her as a person. What had she been through to create such impenetrable armor?
Going to his storage cabinets, he found what he needed. The fake bomb looked real, a plastic box containing explosives and enough wire to freak out an electrician. Most bombs were controlled with a remote, but to make this more fun and progress measurable, he’d installed a timer. Before setting it, he placed some tools on a table–wire cutters, a portable X-ray machine, a drill, saline solution–and to one side, he leaned a loaded shot-gun. Several options and only one correct solution. Well, this would be fun. Now they’d both know how totally unprepared she was for his world.
When everything was set to his specifications, Deacon went to fetch her. She was standing up, waiting for him. Her breathing was still a bit heavy and after seeing her in action, he had no doubt she’d done as he requested. Beckoning her with one finger, he expected her to follow. “All right, Levin, I’m about to activate the bomb and it’s your job to diffuse it before it goes off.” He didn’t offer her any luck. Walking to the bomb, he flipped a switch and ninety seconds came up on the timer. Just enough time to frustrate the hell out of her before the shit hit the fan–proverbially speaking.
Standing to one side, he folded his arms and watched her work. She calmly walked to the bomb, took one look at it, then made a pass by the table. Glancing around, she saw the shot gun. To his shock, she walked to it, picked it up, stepped back a few yards and blew the ever-loving shit out of the bomb. “Well, hell,” he mumbled. “I assume you know that only works if the bomb is not threatening people or irreplaceable property.”
“Of course.” She waved her hand at the table filled with useless tools. “Of the options you laid out, this was clearly the only one. Most bombs are not so easily accessible. They are usually housed in locked boxes are in out of the way places. Robots are a good choice, but most terrorists are too smart to have one wire that controls everything. The drill and saline are a possibility, but there was no time.” Taz held up the gun. “In this situation, the rifle was the best answer.”
Deacon nodded, reluctantly. “Pass.”
Would it kill the man to smile? His apparent inability to praise her rankled a little. “Thank-you.”
Deacon dry-scrubbed his face. “Look, I’ve got some things to do after I clean this up.” He really didn’t, but he needed some breathing room. “Why don’t we take a break until tomorrow. Be ready at seven. I’ll leave some cereal out for you so you won’t have to cook breakfast and those cold cuts I mentioned earlier are in the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Do you want me to do it?” She pointed to the debris on the floor. “I don’t mind.”
“Sure, the bro
om is in the closet. Thanks.” With that small speech, he made a hasty exit.
“Is it me?” she whispered to herself, “or is he always this charming?”
* * *
It was her. She was getting to him. This was a woman he could relate to – who could relate to him. For a second he imagined them playing together. Hell, she’d probably go deer hunting with him. He’d loved Sylvia, but other than occasional sex, she’d just tolerated his passions. Something told him Natasha would be game for anything he threw her way–including sex. “Fuck,” he muttered. As soon as he started to fantasize, he’d remember his damn leg and the disgust his wife hadn’t even tried to hide. No, he could live out his remaining days without seeing that look on a woman’s face again.
What he needed was fresh air. Deacon decided to walk the boundaries of his property and just look around. He could kill two birds with one stone – make sure everything looked normal and give himself some distance from Wonder Woman. Shit. Now he was picturing her in that short little red, white, and blue suit. “Down, boy.” He palmed his dick and gave it a consoling pat.
Inside, Taz washed her hands. She’d cleaned up the mess, then found something totally unexpected. When she’d been hunting the proper place to store the portable X-ray machine, she’d discovered another room full of children’s toys–little Jeeps, battery powered cars and small trucks with pedals. It appeared Deacon Jones was working on them. She’d hardly expected to find Santa’s toyshop in this quasi-military training camp, but that’s what it looked like. Taz wanted to ask him about what she’d discovered, but he wasn’t exactly an inviting conversationalist. So she’d shut the door, leaving his secret intact.
Now she had some free time and she didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe she would read. After taking a quick shower, she redressed and plopped down on the plaid bedspread, picking up her kindle off the bedside table. This was one indulgence she just couldn’t live without. Her passion was mysteries, especially ones set in England and if they included a haunted house, she didn’t quibble. Sinking down onto the pillow, she read a couple of chapters, then padded in her bare feet to the kitchen to make a ketchup sandwich. Spying a few cans of soda, she took one, then felt guilty and put it back. Instead, she found a glass in the cabinet and filled it full of water.
