Rival Forces

by D. D. Ayres

She nodded, feeling acutely uncomfortable. “If that’s the only reason you came, you shouldn’t have.”

  His smile turned tender. “That’s my Yardley. Prickly as a cactus and still as intoxicating as tequila shots.” He sucked in a long breath. “You were looking for me. Why?”

  Yardley stood up, began straightening the things arranged for him on her bedside table. Anything was better than sitting next to him feeling as she did. “I needed closure. When we parted at the airport, you could have just told me then that you were going away and not to expect to see or hear from you again.” She paused to look at him, her gaze direct. “I’m an adult. I would have handled it.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to say to you.”

  “Then what?”

  “I love you.” He laughed at her expression, a coarse hollow sound cut off almost instantly by a grunt of pain as he clutched his side.

  She moved quickly back to him. “David, what’s wrong?”

  He hissed in a breath between clenched teeth. “Your bodyguard wasn’t as thorough as I would have been. He missed diagnosing my bruised ribs.”

  Yardley nodded slowly and brushed the hair back from his forehead, trying desperately not to let her feelings get in the way of what she was hearing and needed so badly to understand. He was hurt more badly than he’d told her. “What can I do?”

  “Love me?” He said the words carefully this time, a grin forming.

  She smiled back but shook her head. “I think that’s the painkillers talking, David.”

  “No.” The word was harsh. “You were right about the last time we were together. I intended to break up with you.” He took another shallow breath, but the blue of his eyes blazed a path right through her. “I knew it wouldn’t be safe.” He swallowed, his lids fluttering. “But that was before.”

  “Before what?”

  Once more he seemed to rouse himself and she realized he was fighting the medications she’d given him as well his pain. He gripped her hand. “You aren’t safe. That’s why I’m here. You aren’t safe, Yardley.”

  * * *

  Headphones on, Kye had had two hours to do some soul searching while the doctor and Yardley were locked behind her bedroom door. At the end of the first hour, he’d used up all the reasons why he wanted to drop-kick the good doctor from here into the middle of next week. Reality began to reassert itself shortly thereafter. The upshot was, he was being a douche.

  The reasons why the doctor disappeared, had gone silent, and then miraculously reappeared were none of his business. Even who’d shot him and why. Only Yardley’s business. He had no right to an opinion, or to try to influence hers. He knew coming here that what Yardley wanted was to find the man who’d gone missing from her life.

  Now the doc had turned up. It didn’t matter what his story was. How weak-assed or un-fuckin’-believable his story was. He’d seen the look on Yard’s face when they’d lowered David Gunnar onto her bed. She was totally absorbed with the man. Those where the facts. For everything else he’d have to work around them.

  As for anything else that had been going on in his own mind since dawn, that was strictly his problem. Sure they’d slept together. How could he blame her for seeking a little solace after the night she’d had? Damn. She’d fought Stokes thinking that he’d abandoned her. The realization made him feel a little sick each time he remembered it. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hadn’t shown up in time.

  Kye glanced at that closed door, trying like everything not to imagine what could be going on behind it, and failing miserably. He knew what would be going on if he were in Gunnar’s place. He was jealous.

  No. He pushed away any wording in his thoughts that made it her fault. She’d come to him for security reasons the night before. She’d needed to feel safe. And she’d come to the only available safe place. If she’d decided that his protection included participating in the life-affirming need to merge bodies then, hell, he was one lucky sumbitch. But that didn’t give him any rights or sense of ownership over Yardley Summers. He’d lost the opportunity to build on the perfect union of bodies. For a few precious hours she’d been his again. And it was her idea. Her way.

  “Fuck.” He hurled the magazine he’d been half reading for two hours across the room. This was not good. He was feeling things he shouldn’t be feeling about a woman that he could in no way lay claim to. Because, much as he didn’t want to feel this way, he could feel it eating away inside him. He was jealous as hell of David Gunnar.

  He itched to call Law but he could imagine what he would have to say about recent events. He’d sent Kye here to be his sister’s protector. Not his finest hour, leaving her to deal with Stokes, innocently or not. Still, nothing had changed now that his responsibilities included Yardley asking him to protect her almost-fiancé.

  He looked around the living room that seemed cold despite the pile of logs snapping and hissing in brilliant flames in the fireplace. There was nothing here for him but a sorry-ass assignment that he wished he hadn’t taken. Curiosity, hell! He was feeling way too many things than was good for either of them. He was only going to get his head handed to him on a platter, again.

  Kye shook himself like a dog, causing Lily to lift her head and bark.

  “Shh. Sick people inside.”

  She gave him her famous huff and laid back down.

  Even Lily thought he was out of line.

  He wagged his head and turned his music volume in the headphones up to eye-bleed territory.

  * * *

  Kye almost missed the knock on the front door for what it was. The person was knocking a second time when he reached the door. He flipped on the porch light and peered through the small window set in the plank door at eye level. Yardley’s eye level. He had to stoop.

  Beyond the door, a man in a baseball cap was bouncing on his toes and shivering. His hands were shoved in his jean pockets. He looked cold. Which made perfect sense since he wore only a corduroy jacket unbuttoned over a T-shirt advertising a microbrewery. He was lean, almost wiry, not carrying much insulation.

  Kye opened the door six inches, bracing a booted foot firmly behind it. “Yeah?”

  The guy flashed him a grin, revealing a gap between his right front tooth and incisor. “Hey, man. Sorry to bother you but my truck broke down back on the road.” He pulled a hand from his pocket to hitch a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m Purdy Hollister, by the way. I called a buddy who lives over this way to come get me. But he says the roads are so bad he don’t know when he’ll get here. I been waiting over an hour and freezing my ass off in the truck. Now I’m about outta gas. Last time I leave Georgia without checking the forecast first. Friggin’ Yankee weather.” He paused, waiting for Kye to respond.

  “You want to come in to warm up?”

  “Hell yeah. If that’s cool with you. Not disturbing the family or anything.”

  He reached for the door but Kye held it firmly. “Where’s your truck?”

  The guy grinned wider and pointed in the general direction of the road. “Just back up over there.” He turned and picked up a sack he had evidently brought with him. “Got some New Year’s cheer, if y’all partake.”

  Liquor in a sack. Real class. Kye gave him his MP stare, noticing that the man wasn’t as young as he’d first appeared. And his scruffy jaw and country way of talking were at odds with his haircut. A very complicated fade was only partially hidden beneath his cap. Not that it mattered. “You can get warm but you can’t stay here long.”

  “Sure, man. Just need to thaw my balls.”

  Kye blocked him as he was about to enter. “Also. You can’t use that kind of language here.”

  “Oh, sure thing. Excuse me. All due respect.”

  “On second thought, how about we just check on what’s wrong with your truck.”

  The guy shrugged but Kye would swear he saw a flash of irritation he quickly locked up behind a chicken-shit smile. “Aside from it’s out of gas, I’m guessing the flat tire.”

/>   “You said it broke down.”

  “I don’t think so.” He suddenly glanced up past Kye’s biceps blocking the open space and smiled. “Evening, ma’am. I was just here asking your husband if I could come in and get warm. My truck broke down out yonder.”

  Kye didn’t need to look back to know Yard had, finally, come out of the bedroom. He did check with the hope that Gunnar wasn’t with her. He wasn’t. In fact Yardley was closing the door tightly behind her. “He can come in, Kye.”

  Kye raised an eyebrow at his about-to-be guest. “She says okay. I say for a short time.”

  The man paused to wipe his shoes on the doormat before coming in. Something at least. Kye was more interested in the footprints in the snow beyond the porch.

  Gunnar’s still unexplained—at least to him—appearance had him edgy. It wasn’t yet fully dark, but the world outside seemed closed off. On a good day Yardley’s nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away, by the road. In the glow of the NightWatcher light coming to life on the utility post nearest the house, he saw only one pair of footprints coming up the drive. The snow was swirling thickly now, filling in the imprints even as he noticed them. He guessed they were getting close to six inches. Heck of a walk for a man in a corduroy jacket. He would close and lock the gate after the guy was gone.

  “Would you like coffee?” Yard’s gaze flicked from the man to Kye. “I’m just going to make some.”

  “I’d purely love anything hot, ma’am.” He moved forward with a kind of quick, jerky movement and held out his hand to her. “I’m Purdy, like I told your husband.”

  That was the second time he’d referred to Kye as a husband. He wondered why.

  Yardley took his hand but didn’t offer her own name. “I’ll put that coffee on.” Kye smiled at her in approval. She got it without him saying it. They needed to be careful, with everything and everyone. He needed to talk to her. Maybe she’d learned something useful.

  “Take a seat by the fire, Purdy. I’ll be right back.”

  The man had already moved to the fireplace. He reached a hand down to Lily, who had been dozing. “Hey there, puppy. How you doing?”

  Lily jumped to her feet and gave a “toller scream,” a series of squeals pitched in a key that could peel paint.

  “What the—fudge!” Purdy jumped back, stumbling over a floor pillow.

  “Careful. She’s a killer.” Kye barely got the words out before Lily dived behind his legs, still squealing like she’d been stepped on.

  The man wiped his mouth with a hand, watching Lily as if she were rabid. “I don’t suppose I could use your facilities?” He jiggled from foot to foot as if needing to emphasize the reason why.

  “Top of the stairs. First door on the right.”

  “Right. Appreciate it.” He moved quickly toward the narrow staircase back near the front door. As his foot hit the bottom step, Oleg ran up and hit the door of his kennel with his full weight followed by a blood-chilling growl.

  The man sprang back from the stairs so quickly he almost fell. “God almighty!” He recovered quickly, meaning he was in good shape, and backed up a few more steps before turning to Kye. “That’s some kinda crazy dog you got here.”

  “He’s the shy one.” Kye smiled. “Didn’t you see the sign over the gate? This is a professional K-9 kennel. The mean ones are stashed upstairs. They’ve been known to tip their kennels and escape. Just keep to the door on the right and you’ll be okay.”

  The man glanced up the stairs, seeming to measure the need of his bladder versus the need to keep his skin intact. “First on the right. Got it.”

  Kye watched him take the stairs, checking him for anything besides his haircut that seemed out of place. And there it was. His jean leg had hiked up, probably when he stumbled over the pillow, revealing a Ka-Bar ankle holster. Kye glanced away before the man noticed him watching.

  Mouthing a curse he didn’t want heard, he backpedaled toward the kitchen. It had been five years since he’d been military police. He was rusty. He should have just shut the door on the bastard. Could be nothing. Could be that the trouble he’d been wondering about had just boldly walked up and knocked on the front door. And he’d let the devil in.

  Yardley came out of the kitchen just as he reached the doorway. “Coffee’s—” She paused at the expression on his face. Her eyes went wide as they moved left and right past him.

  Kye put a finger to his lips and made a pushing motion with his other hand to move her back into the kitchen.

  Before she could backpedal, the door to her bedroom opened and David stood there, his face ashen with pain as he leaned heavily against the door frame. He locked gazes with Kye. “I know that man.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Every hair on Kye’s neck came erect as he heard a toilet flush overhead. There were only a few seconds before Purdy would appear again. No time to ask questions. Still, it didn’t take a lot of brain math to put together the two and two of danger he represented. Even so, Kye’s brain was calculating double-time.

  Gunnar recognizes Purdy.

  Someone shot Gunnar.

  Someone followed Gunnar here.

  Most likely candidate? That would be Purdy.

  He locked eyes with the doctor. “Gun?” His question went out in a mere whisper of sound.

  Gunnar barely nodded, his grip on the door frame slipping.

  He pointed at Yardley, then the doc, and indicated that they should both move back into the bedroom.

  Yardley gave him a defiant look, as if she had something else in mind. But he narrowed his eyes beneath lowered brows, in no mood for a standoff with her.

  Gunnar swayed and moaned ever so slightly. It was the barest breath of pain, but it was enough to galvanize her.

  As she moved toward Gunnar to help him, Kye leaned in. “Lock the door.”

  Yardley nodded and scooped an arm around Gunnar’s waist. Gunnar let go of the door frame, shifting his weight onto her, and threw his good arm around her shoulders.

  Kye watched them in a combination of frustration and anger sprinkled with jealousy. He didn’t have time for number three on his emotional Top Ten. Once he’d pulled that door closed behind them it was about a would-be killer and him, and him without any form of protection.

  The squeak of the bathroom door opening sent his thoughts snapping back to attention. A spike of adrenaline sharpened Kye’s senses, pouring information into his hypersensitive brain. Even the irrelevant details came pouring in. The asshole hadn’t bothered to wash his hands.

  The creak on of the second-story floorboards announced that Purdy was in the hallway, about to head downstairs. Then silence. Had Purdy paused, listening before he revealed himself?

  Kye’s stomach flipped as he heard a soft moan from inside the bedroom. Gunnar might have done himself some damage struggling to get out of bed alone. That knowledge gave him a sense of just how desperate Gunnar was to warn them. Or at least warn Yard.

  Yardley. She was now depending on him, too.

  Just the thought her being subjected to more violence after what she’d been through the night before brought every instinct to protect within him roaring to life. He pushed down hesitation and brought up his army MP training, mentally dusting off the cobwebs as footfalls sounded on the steps.

  Whipping around from the bedroom door, he lifted his arms and arched his back to stretch as he let out a big yawn. Something to cover himself as he scanned the partially hidden stairwell.

  He glanced over in time to see Purdy’s pant legs descending the stairs. The right one had been rearranged to cover the knife. Was Purdy wondering if he had seen it? Or was the knife now somewhere handier, like in his pocket? It had been a while since he’d had to disarm a man. Best not to let it come to that. Act first. Control the situation.

  By now most of Purdy was visible on the stairs. His corduroy shirt was buttoned and tucked in. Less material to grab in a fight. And then his grinning face, lean with suspicious eyes, was staring at him. Coyote ey
es, hungry and feral, and without compassion for its prey.

  “You got a nice place here.”

  Kye smiled. “It goes with the job. If you like dogs.”

  The man gave Oleg’s kennel a sharp glance and stepped off early to avoid going past. The dog was watching their guest silently with slanted eyes. “Actually, I don’t.”

  Lily had made herself scarce. Tollers didn’t like strangers or confrontation. Definitely not a fighter.

  As Purdy wandered back to the fireplace, Kye wondered if he could free Oleg before Purdy realized he was about to be wolfdog bait. However, if Purdy got to his knife before the dog got to him, he could cut the K-9 to ribbons. He’d seen what a knife in practiced hands could do. A man mortally wounded before he even knew he’d been cut. No. He wouldn’t risk an animal like that. There were potential weapons everywhere. The household was full of them. His mind began ticking them off.

  Guns. Handguns?

  Yardley must have a firearm about the place. Personal handgun in the bedside drawer, maybe. Not a good option from here. At all costs he wanted to keep Purdy from Yardley.

  Shotguns. Rifles. Flares. Flash bangs.

  Harmonie Kennels used guns to accustom K-9s to the sounds of pistol and rifle fire, and other things they could be exposed to on the job. But he knew that those guns were kept in the locker in the classroom building on the other side of the bunkhouse. They might as well be in Mumbai for all the good they would do him at the moment. He was going to have to get the drop on Purdy before Purdy realized he’d been made.

  “Heard from your friend?”

  Purdy wagged his head and half reached for his phone. He was right-handed. Good to know. “Shit—oops. He ain’t answering his texts. Hope he ain’t got himself in a ditch somewhere on account of the snow.”

  Had the man’s accent changed to more folksy than before? Maybe he wasn’t even a southerner. Not that it mattered. A hired killer’s point of origin was fucking useless knowledge, at the moment.

  “Interested in the game?”

  “Sure. Who’s playing?’

  “Damned if I know.” Kye moved with a deliberately easy stride to turn on the TV. It would cover more sounds of movement coming from the bedroom. Every shift or sigh from within scraped along his nerves.