Midnight Ranger

by Kris Norris

  “Just what? Afraid I’ll find you, but you won’t find me?”

  The smug tone ignited the competitive side of her Sam was all too right about. And, after surviving against an armed assailant, this should be tame in comparison. “Fine. Hide and seek, it is.”

  “I’ll count, first. You hide. There’s only one rule.” He leaned in even closer. “You have to stay in the house. Deal?”

  “Oh, baby. I don’t need to cheat to win. I hope you ate enough because you’re going to spend the next hour looking for me.”

  “We’ll see. Now, go. I’m already counting in my head.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sam smiled at the playful grin on Bridgette’s face as she turned and darted out of the kitchen. Especially after he’d royally fucked up during breakfast. He hadn’t meant to make her feel as if he thought she didn’t care. In fact, he was pretty sure the problem was that she cared too much. About everyone and everything else. Everything except her own happiness.

  He glanced at the knives sitting in the butcher block, tamping down the resulting surge of anger. He still couldn’t believe she’d nearly died at the hands of Brock Worthington. Sam had actually met the bastard’s father, once, when the senator had toured Sam’s Ranger Regiment in Fort Lewis just before he’d left on his first deployment overseas. Had he known, then, that the man had bought his son’s freedom and that Bridgette had been the victim…

  There were a few ways Sam could have gotten some form of retribution. Not that revenge would have helped Bridgette. But, damn, it would have felt good. As it stood, there wasn’t much he could do without putting Bridgette at risk, either personally or professionally. And, after all she’d endured—how she’d managed to turn the horrifying incident into something worthy—he’d never chance ruining her career.

  A voice whispered in his head that he had the means to dispose of Brock without leaving a trace. That he’d spent years training for such a mission. But this wasn’t a war zone, and Sam couldn’t guarantee that Brock and Bridgette’s history wouldn’t somehow put her in the limelight. But, fuck, how Sam wanted to. Wanted to watch the asshole’s face as he returned the favor—right down to the knife wound. Only…Sam wouldn’t leave any evidence or victims alive.

  Shit. Get a grip, buddy. Move forward, like she has.

  Sam closed his eyes as Gray’s voice echoed inside his head. Just Sam’s luck, his buddy had become his inner voice of reason. Sam’s own fucked-up version of Jiminy Cricket. Which was better than seeing Gray’s ghost at every turn. But what pissed Sam off even more was that Gray was seldom wrong. Sam wasn’t a cold-blooded killer any more than Bridgette was. If she could find a way to rise above the atrocity, surely, Sam could find a way to help her. She needed to be his focus, which was what today was all about. Though, should Brock turn out to be the creep stalking her—threatening her—Sam wasn’t above using whatever force was necessary to keep her alive.

  Not helping. Weren’t you supposed to go find her?

  Sam mentally flipped off the voice then moved to the doorway. “Ready or not, Bridg, here I come.”

  He snickered at the choice of words. What he wouldn’t give to be coming in a difference sense. When he’d first gathered her in his arms last night, all his thoughts had been focused on making her feel safe. Showing her that not every man was out to hurt her or use her. That he wasn’t out to hurt or use her. While he’d hoped that clearing up the past had eliminated any doubts she’d been harboring about trusting him, he wasn’t naive. Suffering that kind of trauma—he considered it a miracle that she hadn’t found a way to kick him out, after all. That she hadn’t lost it when he’d insisted on sleeping on the floor in her bedroom. The woman never ceased to impress him.

  But, once she’d given in to sleep last night, holding her had shifted from an act of chivalry to one of pure need. He’d forgotten how perfectly she fit against him. How good she smelled—an intoxicating combination of womanly sweetness and fruity fragrance mixed with a hint of roses. It was the same essence he’d associated with her from when they were teens. He just hadn’t realized how ingrained it was in his senses until she’d pressed her body against his.

  Then, she’d burrowed into him, laying one leg over his thigh before wrapping it around his calf. And her hand had crept onto his chest, her thumb twitching against his shirt as she’d mumbled in her sleep. He’d spent most of the night lying there, watching her—wondering if it was all some kind of weird dream, only to hear her whisper his name.

  That had made everything real. Had made him acknowledge that—like it or not—he needed to explore his latent feelings for her. See if she still had any feelings left for him. She’d told him, outright, that she’d loved him back when they were eighteen. He only hoped that translated into something more than idle curiosity, now. That maybe she hadn’t gotten over him any more than he had her.

  Of course, convincing her to snuggle against him when her world was falling apart and having her agree to resurrect their intimate relationship were distinctly different. But he wasn’t the kind of man to back down once he’d accepted a challenge. And Bridgette Hayward was definitely going to be one of his toughest challenges since joining the Rangers—one he couldn’t afford to fail.

  And it all started by getting her to relax. He really was worried the constant level of stress was taking far more of a mental toll on her than she realized. If she didn’t learn how to shut off that part of her life, she’d end up having a breakdown. And he wouldn’t be the only one witnessing it next time.

  So, here they were, playing hide and seek. It might have seemed silly, but there was something inherently exciting about trying to outsmart an opponent without it being life-or-death. And he knew the game would engage both her mental and physical prowess. That, and she hated to lose.

  He smiled as he slowly picked his way through the rooms. He’d made a point of listening to her fading footsteps and judging which direction she’d headed in. Now, all he had to do was look for other clues. Disturbed dust, or a curtain that was still swaying. Something would lead him straight to her.

  He stopped in the parlor, noting the subtle indentation on the throw rug—as if someone had stood there for a few moments before moving on. He headed that way, stopping at the small hallway off to the right. It led to a modest three-piece washroom and the laundry room.

  Sam cocked his head to one side, smiling at the hushed squeak that drifted to him. He walked to the second door, wondering what seemed different, when he realized the door was opened. And he knew he’d closed them all, earlier.

  He tsked, taking one step in then jerking the door aside. “Really, darling, you’re going to have to do better than this if you want to win any of these matches.”

  Bridgette jumped then glared at him. “You know, it’s cheating if you use your Army Ranger skills to find me.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m a skilled tracker.” He shrugged, allowing his lips to curl into a smug grin. “You can just admit defeat, now, if you’d like. Move on to something new.”

  “Fat chance, Ranger. Two can play the tracking game.” She pushed past him. “I’ll be counting in the kitchen.”

  Sam managed not to laugh until she’d cleared the doorway. Damn, he didn’t know why sparring with her was so fucking hot, but he wasn’t going to question it too deeply. And he had a feeling she wasn’t quite as pissed as she pretended to be. That she enjoyed the challenge, too.

  He heard her yell out the first few numbers and headed out. He’d make the initial round fairly straight forward. Not that he’d make it easy for her, but he wouldn’t use all his tricks to avoid detection. The ones he planned on using later.

  Sam headed for the stairs. There was a small nook behind them where she’d stored some old paintings, and he was pretty sure it was just big enough to fit him. He took his time, careful not to scrape anything across the floor, before settling into the shadows. Bridgette called out the telltale phrase, followed by her footsteps across the hardwood floors. H
e smiled when she walked past him, heading for her office. He wondered how long it would take for her to find him when a small beam of light illuminated his face.

  “You know, Sam, if you’re not going to take this seriously, then why bother?”

  His mouth gaped open before he had the sense to close it. “How the fuck did you find me so fast?”

  “Now, now. I wouldn’t want to give away my secrets.” She offered him her hand, helping him untangle himself from the small space. “Though, I figured you wouldn’t hide anywhere too hard this first round. That way you could spring all your fancy moves on me later.” She laughed when he furrowed his brow. “Oh, and you can see this spot from the mirror by the door. Your foot was sticking out just enough to show in the reflection.”

  He glanced at the mirror in question. “Well, I’ll be damned. Good job. Which means it’s a tie so far. I hope your next spot is better than the last.”

  Bridgette’s eyes lit up, and she motioned to the kitchen. He made his way back, once again, giving her a chance to hide. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to find her this time. The crafty girl had curled up in his bed in place of his pillows, and he’d missed her the first time he’d looked into his room. She’d laughed when he’d finally uncovered her, the lilting sound easing the tension in his shoulders.

  This was what he’d been hoping for. A day of unfettered happiness. And so far, his plan was a shining success. Which he hoped meant she’d hold true to her word and give him tomorrow, as well.

  Sam choose to conceal himself in a closet, next, until she walked by. Then, he snuck out and shadowed her every move, ducking behind anything handy when she backtracked. He lasted ten minutes before he must have made a sound and she spun around to catch him diving onto the couch. She jumped on top of him, pretending she didn’t see him until he’d confessed she won that round. Then, she took off, again.

  They continued the game for over an hour before they started to run out of places to hide. Not wanting to drag the game out until it had lost its appeal, he declared one final round. Of course, he intended on using every trick to beat her, this time. But she didn’t have to know that.

  Bridgette nodded, motioning him to turn around, before she raced off, her sock feet barely making a sound. He gave her a bit more time then struck off, methodically checking each room. He had to hand it to her. She’d adapted quickly to the methods he’d been using to track her, and he started to think that maybe he shouldn’t have told her some of his secrets, when his phone buzzed.

  Sam glanced down, frowning at the alarm message flashing on the screen. The side door on the opposite side of the kitchen had been opened. He had a momentary thought that maybe she’d chosen to break his only rule then decided against it. Bridgette wouldn’t consider it a worthy win if she’d had to cheat.

  Scenarios rolled through his head as he quickly retrieved one of the guns he’d holstered at his ankles, checking the chamber then clicking off the safety. He glanced at the stairs, but he was fairly certain she’d stayed on the main level. Regardless, he needed to clear each room—ensure no one ambushed him from behind as he searched for Bridgette and any sign of an intruder.

  He moved silently through the rooms, running every small noise he’d heard Bridgette make through his mind. He was certain she’d gone through the parlor, and then… Shit. He’d heard a small scuffing sound but had brushed it off. But it would have coincided with her doubling back to the kitchen after he’d walked past.

  He quickly cleared her office then turned back to the kitchen, glancing up the stairs, again, before crossing them and heading to the next doorway. A cold breeze swirled around his legs, and he heard birds chirping in the distance. He tamped down the twinge of fear that burned beneath his skin. What if she’d been taken? What if he’d put her life in jeopardy because he’d been thinking with the wrong fucking head? What if he’d lost her?

  Fear gripped his gut as he pressed his back into the wall beside the doorway. Nothing sounded beyond the threshold except his own heartbeat thrumming through his ears. Which wasn’t helping. Now wasn’t the time to be the charming cook.

  Shoving his emotions down as far as he could, he took a quick peek inside the room. If Bridgette had ventured outside, he’d be able to tell by the footprints in the snow once he’d reached the door. He took a step toward the entrance when the closet beside the door opened, and Bridgette slipped out. She looked at the open door, the color draining from her face before she slowly backed away.

  Sam darted in and grabbed her, covering her mouth with one hand as he tugged her body against his. “Don’t scream. It’s me.”

  The elbow she’d raised paused mid-strike, and she gazed back at him when he slowly released her. Her eyes widened before the tension in her muscles eased.

  He motioned to the door then pushed her behind his back as he faced the way he’d come. “Stick to me like glue.”

  She nodded. “Do you have another gun?”

  He frowned at the hushed words, stopping to look at her. “You know how to use one?”

  “I was attacked in my own home. So, yeah, I know how to use one. Not saying I’m anywhere close to your skill, but I can hit a target.”

  He bent over, grabbing the gun from his other ankle then handing it over. Bridgette took it, checked the chamber, the magazine, then flicked off the safety before motioning him to continue.

  Shit, was there nothing she couldn’t do?

  He’d question her about who’d taught her later. First, he wanted to clear the house. They moved together, checking every damn hiding spot they could think of before finally returning to the kitchen. Sam closed the door and reset the alarm.

  Bridgette pressed against him, her gaze still sweeping the room. “Do you think it’s okay?”

  Sam sighed at the shiver that shook through her, laying one hand at the small of her back. “I think so. The locks are old. I suppose there’s a chance that door didn’t quite catch after I took out the garbage, and with the lock not fully engaged, the wind could have blown it open.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “Hard to tell. The gusting conditions have swept away any new footprints. The ones out there look like mine, but someone could have used boots with a similar tread and just walked in my old footprints to trick us.”

  “God. How did you live like this for twelve years? Wait, you’re still living like this.”

  He reached his other hand toward her, smiling when she moved into his embrace. “You get used to it.”

  “That’s the practiced answer, again.”

  “Damn, but you’re tough. Okay, maybe I don’t want to admit that a part of me liked the adrenaline rush. That I got addicted to it. I won’t deny that it’s a pretty big high to infiltrate enemy territory and not even be seen. To rescue soldiers or civilians that have been captured. To be honest, I miss it. Though, the security work I’ve been doing is a close second, considering it’s civilian.”

  She stared at him then offered him back the gun. “I don’t think I really understood what you did…until now. How stupid I was to think I was remotely as capable as you are. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  Damn, he hadn’t been prepared for that.

  He took the gun, checking it over then shoving it back in his ankle holster. “The world would be a pretty horrible place if everyone was trained like that. And I prefer you just the way you are. Though, I am curious when you learned to shoot.”

  Her lips quirked. “It was shortly after I got my first job as a public defender. I was working in a pretty rough district, and a friend of mine, Jack Taylor, thought I should know how, in case I needed to defend myself. He wanted me to carry, but…” She shrugged. “He was kind enough to give me some lessons. He’s a fed.”

  “A previous lover?”

  She opened her mouth then closed it on a sigh. “We…hooked up a few times. Usually at conventions. He’s—how did you put it? Safe? We’re not…together or anything. Never were. In fact, he just married a
very beautiful neurosurgeon. They’re sickeningly perfect for each other. But it was purely sex between us.” She shook her head. “Which only proves your point more, I suppose.”

  “Bridgette, I—”

  “I know. You didn’t mean it the way it sounded earlier, but… That doesn’t make it any less true. My life is about rules, and I am careful with who I sleep with. I do my best to keep it strictly physical.”

  He brushed his finger along her jaw. “It’s completely understandable. What you went through…”

  “Has turned me into an emotional hermit. Yeah, I’m aware.” She glanced around the kitchen. “So, does this intrusion mean we’re moving? Off to some crappy motel with shag carpeting?”

  He grimaced. That was exactly what he’d been thinking. “I don’t want you to think I’m overreacting, but—”

  “I’ll go.”

  He froze. “Say what?”

  “I said, I’ll go. Wherever you think is safe. While it pains me to admit this…you were right. This time is different. I’ve never been scared enough by the threats that I’ve had to escape Seattle. And no one’s ever broken into my home before. If there’s a chance someone can get past your security here…” She shivered. “This is way past my comfort zone—was before I got here. Not that I relish how you’ll gloat over that fact, now that I’ve admitted it. And I…I trust your judgment.”

  Sam had to stop his mouth from gaping open, again. Had she really just said she trusted him? “Let’s pack a bag. We’ll head to a motel for the rest of the day, but I’d prefer to take you somewhere safer. I’ll call Hank. See if there’s a place he recommends in Eagle Rock. I’ll make sure you can still do your work, okay?”

  Bridgette nodded. “Thanks, though I won’t be doing any work until Monday.”

  “Monday?”

  “I hold true to my word, Sam. And up until we were rudely interrupted, I’d had more fun than I can remember having in a long time. So…you won. You get tomorrow, too. Let’s just leave the possible stalker out of it, though, okay?”