by Elle James
Sam shook his head. “Remind me to thank her. She went way above and beyond anything I could have expected.”
“We wanted you to have a smooth transition to your new job and life. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
Hank clapped his hands together. “Did you get with the outfitter I told you to try?”
With a nod, Sam stepped out of the cabin onto the porch. “I did. He fitted me out with all the paraphernalia associated with fly fishing. Now, I just have to remember how to do it.”
“There’s no science to it. Just do what feels natural.” Hank chuckled. “The fish don’t always follow the rules anyway.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me for the next week?” Sam asked, half-hoping Hank would put him right to work.
“Nope. Go. Enjoy your leave. We’ll have you working before you know it.” Hank clapped a hand onto Sam’s back. “See ya in a week.” He climbed into his truck and left Sam standing on the porch.
Sam wasn’t sure how to relax. Being on his own for an entire week without anyone shouting, shooting or harassing him, even if good-naturedly, would be a new experience. One he wasn’t certain he was equipped to handle. Already, he missed his brothers in arms, the only family he’d known for the past eleven years, and he wondered if he’d made the right decision to leave the Navy and join the civilian world.
He left the cabin Sadie had found for him and drove up into the Crazy Mountains, following the directions the outfitter had given him to the river he’d recommended for fly fishing.
Once there, he unloaded his gear from his truck and looked around. The light green of the grassy glen contrasted sharply with the dark green branches of Lodgepole pines climbing up the hillside. The river in front of him was shallow and meandering through an idyllic valley. Instead of making him relax, the quiet and emptiness of the landscape made his shoulders tense. What if he got bored? What if he found he couldn’t stand to be alone? What if he wasn’t any good at civilian life? Would the Navy take him back?
Sam slipped into his waders and pulled them up to his waist like the man in the outfitter store had shown him. He gathered his fly fishing pole, the lures he’d purchased, and then let Grunt out of the back seat of his pickup.
The sable-colored German Shepherd leaped to the ground and ran a circle around the truck before he tore off into the brush.
“Grunt!” Sam called out. He wasn’t quite sure the dog knew to stick around. They’d only been together for three days since he’d arranged to adopt the retired military war dog. He’d picked him up from San Antonio, Texas before he’d begun the long trek to Eagle Rock, Montana, where he’d met his new boss, Hank Patterson, former Navy SEAL and entrepreneur.
The two men had known each other from having served in Afghanistan several years ago. Sam had heard about Hank’s new venture in protective services. In a corps as small and close-knit as the Navy SEALs, word got around.
When Sam had decided it was time to leave the Navy, he’d contacted Hank, hoping he had room for one more highly trained combatant. He promised he could be retrained to provide protection to those who needed it and could even live with the cold temperatures found in the Crazy Mountains of Montana.
Hank assured him that he had room for more good men in his agency, the Brotherhood Protectors. All Sam had to do was get to Eagle Rock, Montana.
He had arrived that day, met with Hank and gotten the low down on what was expected. Because he was still on terminal leave, he wanted to postpone his actual start date until he’d had a chance to unwind from his last mission.
His fingers tightened on the fishing pole as the events of that final mission came back to him in waves of anger, regret and grief. Pushing thoughts of the men who hadn’t been lucky enough to return home on their own two feet and the civilians who’d been caught in the crossfire, Sam baited his hook with a fancy lure, walked out into the middle of the shallow river and cast his line out the way the outfitter had taught him.
He flicked the line, dragging the lure across the water and willed the tension out of his shoulders. He was supposed to be relaxing and unwinding from active duty. The new job wouldn’t start for another week, giving him the time he needed to adjust to civilian life. No uniforms, no rank, no one shooting at him. Life would be very different. No surprises. How hard could being a bodyguard be?
A loud splash in the water behind him made Sam jump. He spun and crouched in a combative position, ready to take on the enemy.
Grunt bounded through the water, came to a stop beside Sam and promptly shook the water from his fur, spraying Sam where he’d planned on staying dry. “Hey, shake somewhere away from me.”
As if he understood Sam, Grunt took off for the riverbank and sniffed through the reeds until he disappeared into the brush. Sam shook his head. Grunt had seemed so happy to be rescued from his kennel. The dog had jumped up into Sam’s arms and slathered him with sloppy kisses. He remembered him from when they’d been together in Afghanistan, before the last mission. Sergeant Tyler Bledsoe, his handler, had been killed when a Taliban rebel had tossed a grenade down the narrow alley they’d been sent into. The dog and the handler had been hit by shrapnel. Sgt. Bledsoe’s protective vest hadn’t saved him. He’d taken a hit to his neck, severing his carotid artery. He’d bled out before anyone could do anything to slow the bleeding.
Grunt had lost an eye and was laid up with shrapnel wounds. Thankfully, he hadn’t been put down on the spot. He’d been evacuated back to the States with other human casualties aboard a C-17 equipped with a critical care team to Germany. A veterinarian cleaned out the shrapnel and arranged for the dog to be transported back to Lackland Air Force Base, where he’d been officially retired and put up for adoption.
That mission had been Sam’s last before he’d separated from the Navy a month later. He’d followed Grunt’s progress and expressed his desire to adopt the animal once he’d been released from active duty. He’d felt he owed it to Grunt’s handler to give the dog a home.
The least he could do for Sgt. Bledsoe was take care of the dog that had meant as much to him as any other member of his family and give him a forever home in his retirement. Grunt had served well, saving the lives of so many soldiers, SEALs and Delta Force. He deserved a good life.
Sam cast the line out again, trying to get the hang of fly fishing, scooting the lure across the water again.
Grunt barked…not something he did often. The sound drew Sam’s attention away from his fishing.
About that time, something hit the lure and dragged the line down.
Grunt’s barking became more insistent, almost desperate.
With a fish on his line, Sam hesitated. The outfitter in Bozeman had warned him that the mountains and streams in the area were inhabited by bears. He should be looking out for them while he fished.
Grunt continued barking, the sound getting louder.
Sam waded back to shore, tossed aside his expensive fly-fishing pole and tromped along the river bank toward the sound.
He saw Grunt before he saw the source of his distress.
Sam pulled his handgun from the holster beneath his jacket and wondered if a bullet from a 9 millimeter pistol would slow a bear long enough for him to get Grunt to safety. Or would it just piss him off?
Though he searched the brush beyond Grunt, Sam couldn’t see a bear. And the dog wasn’t barking upward at a bear but into the brush bordering the river.
His gun drawn and ready, Sam approached, wondering if Grunt had cornered another animal.
Flicking the safety off, he edged toward Grunt. As he neared the dog, he noticed the bank sloped sharply down to a grass-covered sandy beach between him and Grunt. Something pale and smooth lay among the grass and reeds.
As Sam got closer, he realized it was a body. A naked body. Beyond the body, Grunt stood, the ruff on the back of his neck standing at attention. In front of Grunt, was a wolf, standi
ng in the shadows of the brush, crouching low, ready to spring.
Sam pointed his gun into the air and fired one shot.
The wolf bolted, ducking into the woods.
Once the wolf was gone, Grunt backed toward the body and sniffed.
Sam scrambled down the slope and hurried to the inert form, lying naked in the sand. As he closed the distance, he could tell by the shape of the hips, it was a woman, lying face down in the sand.
At first, he couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse at the base of her throat. He couldn’t quite tell if he had his fingers in the right place since she was lying face down. He was hesitant to move her in case she’d suffered spinal injuries. But if she wasn’t dead, she’d die soon enough from exposure. Gently, he rolled her over and touched his fingers to the base of her throat. His breath lodged in his throat, and he prayed for a sign of life.
Just as he felt a faint pulse, the woman moaned, and her eyelids slowly lifted.
She stared up at him, her eyes widening. Then she slapped at his hands and kicked her feet in a pathetic attempt to fight him off. She was too weak to escape his hold.
“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He let go of her long enough to strip off his jacket and lay it over her naked body, trying not to notice her breasts, the tuft of hair at the juncture of her thighs and how perfectly formed she was, even though her skin was bruised and scratched, and her feet looked like hamburger meat. She had to have been running through the woods to get that beat up.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” He scooped her up and straightened to stand.
She tried again to fight free of him, but he only held her tighter. “It’s okay. You’ve been injured. I’m going to get you to a doctor.”
“No,” she whispered.
He frowned down at her. “No, you weren’t injured?”
“No doctor,” she said.
“At least let me contact the police. You had to have been running from someone to get all these injuries.”
“No doctor. No police.” She shook her head. As if that little bit of effort was too much for her, she passed out in his arms.
“Well, damn.” Sam trudged along the river and headed back to his truck. He opened the back door and laid the woman on the bench seat. Then he stripped out of his waders, threw them into the back of the truck. He didn’t want to waste time retrieving his fishing pole. If it was there when he got back, good. If not…oh well. He held open the driver’s door. “Grunt. Up.”
The dog flew into the seat, over the console and onto the passenger side.
Sam climbed into the truck and turned in his seat to stare at the woman lying unmoving. Every instinct told him to get her to a hospital as quickly as possible. And to have them run a rape kit on her. Someone had probably kidnapped, raped her and dumped her body. Whoever had done that needed to be caught and prosecuted. Hell, he needed to be shot.
Anyone who could abuse a woman and leave her naked and exposed to wild animals and the elements deserved a bullet through his black heart.
But the woman had specifically said no doctor and no police.
Why?
And what was he supposed to do with her if he couldn’t take her to the hospital or to the police?
“I’m taking you to my boss,” he said out loud.
“No,” she croaked.
He turned in his seat to see she was looking at him, pulling his jacket over her nakedness.
She opened startlingly green eyes as if it took all her strength to do so. “I can’t be seen.”
Sam shook his head. “I have to get you some help.”
She moaned and reached out her hand. “No. Please.”
“I don’t understand.” He stared into her gaze. “You need help.”
“No one can know I’m alive,” she said. “I have to stay…dead.” Her eyes closed and her voice faded off on the last word as if she’d truly died.
Sam fought the urge to climb into the back seat and start CPR. For a long moment, he stared at the jacket resting over her breasts, willing it to move.
When it did with the rise of her chest, Sam let go of the air arrested in his own lungs.
Hell, if she wouldn’t let him take her to a hospital, the police or his boss, he had to do something to make sure she didn’t die on him. He shifted into drive and pulled back onto the dirt road he’d come in on. Minutes later, he was on the highway heading to the cabin Sadie and Hank had rented for him. It was the only place he could think of where he could take her without her protesting.
He turned up the heat in the cab of the pickup. How long the woman had been exposed to the elements, he didn’t know, but she had to be kept warm until he could get her somewhere safe and dry.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to the little cabin in the woods. He dropped down from the driver’s seat.
Grunt leaped to the ground beside him.
Sam yanked open the back door and stared at the woman, wishing he’d gone with his first instinct. She needed to go to the hospital.
She lay with her eyes closed, the jacket having slipped down, exposing the rounded curve of a breast with a rosy nipple, puckered against the cold.
He slipped his arms beneath her, lifted her out of the back of the truck and carried her into the small cabin, against his better judgment.
Thank God, Hank’s wife had stocked the cabin with sheets, towels and pantry goods. Sam hadn’t thought that far ahead, preferring to get straight to his vacation and the alone-time he’d needed to decompress.
He hadn’t had more than a couple hours by himself before he’d found the woman. So much for decompressing in peace and quiet.
Sam laid her on top of the hand-sewn quilt Sadie had draped across the bed. His jacket slipped off her body, exposing how scratched and bruised she was. He couldn’t lay her between the sheets like that, but he didn’t feel right cleaning her up. Hell, he didn’t know her, and he didn’t have her permission.
But she was unconscious. The wounds would get infected if he didn’t clean and dress them. His training in the Navy had taught him self-aid and buddy care. He just had to think of her as one of his teammates and get the job done.
He located his duffel bag and pulled out his handy first-aid kit. After locating a washcloth, a large bowl and filling it with warm soapy water, he went to work on cleaning up the woman and dressing her wounds with antiseptic ointment and bandages. She lay almost comatose while he worked, gently wiping away the dirt, mud and blood. When he was finished, he dressed her in one of his clean T-shirts and slipped her between the sheets.
Grunt sat beside the bed and laid his chin on the quilt, his gaze shifting from the woman to Sam. The dog whined softly.
“I know. We should have taken her to the hospital,” he whispered, patting Grunt’s head. “She could have internal injuries from a fall.”
As he stood there, he fought the urge to shake her awake. If she didn’t have brain damage or internal injuries, sleep would be the best elixir on the path to getting her back on her feet.
As he waited for her to wake, he shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head, the enormity of what had happened hitting him square in the gut. Holy hell, how had he ended up with a naked, unconscious woman on his vacation? He was supposed to be relaxing and finding his footing in the civilian world. The way things were going thus far, civilian life might be every bit as dangerous as his military world.
Chapter 3
The scent of something cooking tugged at Reggie’s empty belly. Warmth wrapped around her and made her want to keep her eyes closed to continue sleeping. However, her stomach rumbled and ached, finally forcing her to open her eyes and seek the source of the enticing smell.
For a moment, she couldn’t focus. Something dark and damp was in front of her, but she couldn’t make it out in the dim light.
She pulled her blanket up around her, only it wasn’t her blanket, and she wasn’t naked beneath it. The dark damp t
hing in front of her moved and breathed hot breath on her face.
Reggie jerked backward with a muffled cry. Tangled in fresh, clean sheets, she couldn’t roll to her feet. Instead, she fell hard onto a wooden floor, jolting her insides and shooting pain through the hip on which she landed.
The animal leaped up onto the mattress above her and stared down at her, his tongue lolling and his tail wagging. She realized it wasn’t a wolf, but it was another kind of canine that could inflict a lot of damage if he was trained to do so.
“Grunt, platz,” a firm, deep, male voice sounded from somewhere on the other side of the bed.
Reggie fought to free her legs from the sheet and scooted into the corner of the room, as far as she could get away from the animal and his master.
The Master.
A terrified shiver rippled across every inch of Reggie’s skin. Where was she? Had the Master gotten a new dog? Had all her efforts to escape landed her back in the hands of the man who’d kidnapped her and other women? She searched the immediate area around her for a potential weapon but found none. Her fingernails were broken and stubby from digging. She was weak with hunger and the lingering effects of the drugs the Master had fed her. But she’d rather die than go back to the torture and abuse at that madman’s hands. If she had to, she’d kill the bastard to get away.
“Hey,” the voice said from the end of the bed. A man appeared, dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt and bare feet. “Are you okay?”
She stared at him. Was he the Master? Had the Master removed his mask and taken on a different tactic to gain her trust and cooperation before he destroyed it and beat her into submission?
“Need help getting back into the bed?” The man had dark hair and brown eyes. He didn’t look like a sociopath. But then she hadn’t met another sociopath until the Master. And though he wore a mask when he took the women up into the big house, he couldn’t hide his steely gray eyes that showed no emotion until they were sparked with anger.
