He was such a…man.
On the morning of the eighth day, she woke up to Ford standing over her sleeping pad, staring down at her impatiently. The fact that he was even in her bedroom was shocking. Not to mention, he was actually making something resembling eye contact with her.
“What’s up?” she mumbled up at him, her voice sleep roughened.
“Trip to town today. We need to get going.”
Recalling the all day trek from hell it had been to get here, she groaned inside her head and pushed wearily to her feet. He hadn’t moved.
“You gonna stand there and watch me dress?” she demanded waspishly.
He spun and left the room abruptly. Almost as if he hadn’t realized he was standing there ogling her until she had pointed it out. If she wasn’t mistaken, his ears were red as he swept out of her room. Excellent. He could use a little embarrassment. Maybe that would knock him out of his stupid ivory tower.
She was glad they were headed for civilization. She desperately needed more clothes, or at least more lingerie. She was getting really tired of having to wash out her one and only set of underwear every single night.
And food. She was really tired of fish. Granted, the catfish, crawfish, and bass he’d been catching and cooking had been delicious. But she was ready for some variation in her diet.
She grabbed her rucksack and threw in some basic survival gear. Weird how accustomed she’d grown to having a hunting knife at hand. And rope, and a pocket knife with a dozen tools.
She went out back to stoke the distiller fire and put a new jug under the copper tube where the water dripped out. She looked up as Ford jogged down the back stairs toward her.
Lord, that man was beautiful. He moved with the fluid grace of an athlete. Where he got off calling himself old, she had no idea. His knee had been doing better the past couple of days. But they also hadn’t been running around the swamp as much. They’d been spending hours lying on their stomachs while he taught her the finer points of handling a sniper rig. She was already a crack shot with a rifle, and the principles of long-range sniping were pretty much the same. Just over much, much greater distances.
“You won’t need your ruck, Zee.”
She glanced down at her bag and pursed her lips. “It’s the only bag I’ve got. And no self-respecting girl goes shopping without a purse.”
He rolled his eyes, but she thought she caught a hint of humor in their chocolate depths. Hark. Was there a human boy inside the puppet after all?
She followed him across the backyard and down a path she’d never traversed, deep into the underbrush. The path transformed into a raised wooden walkway about two feet wide. The water below was murky, and she swore she saw things slithering beneath wooden slats as she followed Ford along it.
The walkway took a sharp right turn, proceeded a half-dozen more yards, and abruptly turned into a dock with a shallow-draft airboat tied to it. The giant fan and motor mounted in the rear looked huge for the size of the vessel.
“Hop in,” he directed as he untied the front mooring line and tossed it aboard.
She stepped into the boat and caught the rear mooring line from him as he simultaneously tossed it to her and stepped into the boat. She stowed the line as he started the engine. It caught with a roar.
“Buckle in,” he shouted.
She noticed belatedly that the seat did, indeed, come equipped with a seatbelt. She snapped it around her hips just as Ford peeled out of the dock and into the bayou like a freaking Formula One racecar driver. Holy crap. The man was having entirely too much fun zooming around the cypress trees and islets.
They shot out into a big, straight canal running due north, and he really opened up the throttle, then. The front end of the boat lifted out of the water and they skimmed across the surface at easily seventy miles per hour. Her eyes watered, and she didn’t want to think about how long it was going to take her to brush the tangles out of her hair.
The speed was exhilarating, though. She glanced back at Ford and was not surprised to see his head thrown back and the first smile she’d seen in days on his face. At her head turn, he glanced at her. That was the first time they’d made eye contact in days, also.
He slowed and turned left at an intersecting canal, speeding up again for the straightaway. This canal emptied into a lake-like body of water. He slowed as they entered the lake and guided the boat north along the coast for perhaps five minutes to a dock. A small strip shopping center stretched along the shore. Hallelujah. Real groceries.
She jumped ashore and caught the line Ford tossed her. She lashed it to a mooring cleat while Ford did the same with the back line.
“Wow. Civilization. Look, Ford. Real people. I haven’t seen a child in six months.”
He glanced sidelong at her and murmured, “It’s a shock to the system, isn’t it?”
It really was. She’d been in training at various naval bases and running around in the desert with wannabe SEALs for so long that she’d almost forgotten a real world existed beyond the fences of the training bases.
“Why don’t you hit the ladies’ clothing store while I swing into the hardware,” he suggested. “I’ll meet you back at the boat, and when we’ve stowed our purchases, we can go get food.”
It was a blessed relief to buy underwear, sports bras, socks, workout clothes, and a pile of jeans and t-shirts. She felt almost human by the time she carried her purchases back to the boat.
Ford locked their shopping bags in a storage box and then led her to the grocery store. He said sardonically, “I know you haven’t seen one of these for a long time. It’s where mommy and daddy go to by food. And this is a buggy. You put your food in it.”
“Very funny. And where I come from, they’re called grocery carts.”
“Damn Yankee,” he muttered.
He was joking with her? The ice man had thawed a bit? Shock.
She was delighted to find bug spray, a sewing kit, and—luxury of luxuries—deodorant. After a blissful trip down the cosmetics aisle to get shampoo and conditioner, sunblock, lip balm, and even facial moisturizer, she turned their attention to food.
They headed for the canned goods aisle, where she expected they would stock up heavily. Since the house had no electricity to power a refrigerator, canned goods were a great stored food option for them.
They had just hit the tomato section about halfway down the aisle when Trina noticed a large man coming around the corner ahead of them. He looked familiar.
The face clicked. He was the drunk who had hit on her at the restaurant that first night—a Kimball, the one she’d dubbed Toothless. What had Ford called him? Jimbo. That was it. He’d spied her and Ford, too, if his scowl was any indication.
“Let’s turn around,” she murmured to Ford, whose irritated expression indicated that he’d spotted their old acquaintance.
“Can’t,” he replied, low. “Two of his brothers are behind us.”
A fourth man turned into the aisle in front of them, nearly as big and brawny as Jimbo. The last Kimball brother. Four on one. In close quarters. And their attackers were big, brawny men who no doubt were experienced fighters. Oh, this was so not good.
“Well, isn’t this special?” she murmured. “A complete, matched set of Kimball boys.”
Ford commented from beside her, “Let’s take this outside, fellas. No sense making a huge mess in aisle five for someone to have to clean up.”
She followed him to the checkout counter and couldn’t believe that he calmly paid for the groceries and even helped the bag boy get them in the cart. He did ask the manager to watch the cart for a few minutes inside the front door while he took care of a bit of business.
The manager looked nervous. Must’ve seen the Kimball boys head outside to lay in wait for them. “Be careful, now, ya heah’? Them boys is trouble.”
Ford thanked the guy quietly for the warning, drawling, “Seems like high time someone taught them some manners, don’t you think? Wait two minutes and th
en call the sheriff, if you wouldn’t mind.”
The guy nodded jerkily. Wow. The manager was really sacred of these guys. They must be bad actors, indeed, to inspire the kind of terror the store manager’s body language shouted of.
“Yeah, but do you have to be the one to teach the lesson?” she muttered at Ford as they approached the automatic doors.
Chapter Eight
‡
“Get behind me,” Ford ordered low. “They’ll be in the alley waiting to jump us. Put your back to the building and don’t let them get behind us. I’ll cover you from the front.”
“I can help—”
“Try to stay right on my back.”
“I know how to fight—”
“Not like these guys,” he bit out. “Grab one of those buggies and cover my left if you can.” He pointed at a row of carts stacked together outside.
She tried again. “Ford—”
“Later.”
He wasn’t listening to her. She had eight years of hardcore Krav Maga training, for goodness sake. She could handle herself with these amateur thugs and even the odds considerably. Nonetheless, Ford was expecting her to follow orders and he would make decisions in the fight based on knowing where she was and what she would be doing.
Frustrated, she slid behind him and grabbed onto the handle of a cart in preparation for using it as a makeshift shield. They stepped outside, and sure enough, all four Kimballs came out of the alley just beyond the grocery store.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said pleasantly to Jimbo and his gigantic brothers. “How are you today?”
“About to be a far sight better,” Kimball growled.
“How’s that?” she asked calmly. This kind of fight she could handle. She had training, and lots of it, for hand-to-hand combat.
“Swing left,” Ford muttered.
She half-turned to her left, and on cue, two of the Kimballs stepped left to confront her, while the other two slid right.
Ford’s shoulder blade touched her back. He would use the light contact to keep tabs on where she was during the fight. She mimicked his loose relaxation, preparing her body to move with maximum speed when the time came.
“Gonna get me a can of whup-ass and dump it on yo’ pretty boy’s face. Won’ be so pretty when I’s done wit’ ’im.”
She replied sympathetically, “I suppose it’s hard to pronounce English properly with so many teeth missing, isn’t it? Shame. Makes you sound like an ignorant hick.”
Ford let out a bark of humor. He would know what she was doing, of course. It was Combat 101 to provoke the enemy into an ill-advised attack based on emotion rather than sound combat strategy and timing.
Jimbo growled. “Mouthy-fucking-whoring-cunt-bitch-slut.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of words. I had no idea you knew so many,” she quipped lightly. The guy would rush her any second.
“I’ll kick yo’ skinny ass, too, bitch,” he growled.
Ford tensed against her back. “Yeah? You and what army?” she retorted. She was careful not to overtly threaten Jimbo. She was an active duty military member, and the Navy took a dim view of its sailors picking fights, particularly with civilians.
Ford chimed in, his voice flat and cold. “Guys, we don’t want any trouble. Consider this fair warning that my hands are classed as lethal weapons. Please turn around and walk away from this.”
She was impressed at how he managed to pitch his voice to be both threatening and conciliatory like that. She added, “And while we’re on the subject of lethal hands, mine are also legally classified as weapons.”
Martial artists and boxers above a certain level were required to warn people before attacking them, lest they face criminal charges for the damage they inflicted in a fight. Ford’s shoulder blades tensed once more in surprise. Of course, he probably thought she was bluffing. Legal necessities out of the way, she and Ford were both in the clear, now, to kick some butt and take names.
“Big talk, li’l girl.”
She shrugged. “You’ve been warned.”
“Fuck that shit.” And with that, Jimbo and his brother charged. Her every sense went hyper-alert, and her gaze took in torsos and fists and feet simultaneously as her targets approached. She assessed them coolly. These guys would be strong, and potentially fairly fast. Probably would rely on their fists over their feet. They would also be overly aggressive, uncontrolled, and overconfident because she was a girl. Two on one wasn’t ideal, but she’d practiced against multiple attackers. She could handle this.
Mental assessment complete in the blink of an eye, she waited the last few milliseconds for the men to come into range. She jammed the heavy grocery cart at Jimbo’s brother, nailing him in the gut and breaking the momentum of his charge.
Momentarily down to one attacker, she made a feint with her fist in hopes of drawing all of Jimbo’s attention to her hands. Sure enough, his enraged glare zeroed right in on her fist. She lashed out with her booted foot, nailing him squarely in the kneecap. Hard. He howled, but followed through with the big right hook he’d thrown just as she kicked.
She threw up her left forearm and took the blow on her arm. He was strong, all right, and drove her arm back into her head painfully, albeit harmlessly. As he yanked his arm back to reload, she grabbed his fist with her left hand and maintained contact with it as she chopped up from below with her right fist. She punched up as hard as she could into his solar plexus. He exhaled hard and doubled over, driving his nose right down onto her knee just as she jerked it up into his face.
The result was spectacular. Blood exploded out of his nose and he reeled back, screaming bloody murder. It was enough to give his brother pause for an instant to stare at Toothless.
Which was a mistake. She took a quick step forward and clocked the brother with all her strength on the chin. The guy went down like a rock. Jimbo started to come up for another go and she nailed him in the temple with her elbow, driving it out hard from her side about waist-high. It was a vicious blow, and he dropped on top of his brother in a heap. She spun to help Ford.
Not that he needed any help from her. He’d just spun around to defend her, as it turned out. “Look out!” he bit out sharply.
She registered the direction of his gaze and ducked, catching only a glancing blow on top of her scalp, which probably saved her from a serious concussion or worse. Ford leaped past her and chopped Jimbo’s brother in the throat with the side of his hand, blade-like. The guy staggered back, gurgling. Ford scooped up an empty beer bottle and smashed it over the guy’s head. Jimbo’s brother collapsed, unconscious.
“Thanks,” Trina muttered, chagrined. She should have finished off her own attackers and not left it to Ford to save her from her mistake.
“No problem. You good?” he bit out.
“Peachy keen. You?” she replied.
“Great. Let’s go before they wake up. Nothing to see, folks.”
She looked up, startled to see that a dozen people had gathered to watch the comeuppance of the Kimballs. Broad grins wreathed the bystanders’ faces.
Ford fetched their cart and pushed it outside just as sirens became audible in the distance. They left the cart at the back of the parking lot and carried the bags of food to the boat with dispatch. She climbed in and he passed her the groceriess. He was just casting off the lines when a police car pulled into the parking lot. One of the Kimballs charged out of the alley like a rampaging bull and ran smack dab into a deputy, who looked prepared to have a long and detailed discussion with him.
Ford turned the airboat around and gunned the throttle. They skimmed across the calm lake and swung into the side channel, banking up so hard she was looking almost straight down at water from her seat. Instead of sticking to the straight, highway-like channel this time, Ford swung off into a side channel before long.
“No sense making it easy for them to follow us,” he shouted over the roar of the engine. They twisted and turned through the bayou for nearly an hour. She was complete
ly turned around, and she usually had unerring directional sense. But in the perpetual gloom beneath the stands of cypress, she couldn’t even use the sun to align her mental compass.
Ford cut the engine and the boat drifted up to a dock that appeared out of nowhere. She recognized it as the dock they’d left a few hours before. Home.
He jumped ashore and she tossed him the lines. After tying off the boat, he surprised her by reaching a hand down to help her disembark. She laid her hand in his, and lightning struck, every bit as overwhelming and sexual as the first time she’d touched him. Crud. She was as turned on as ever by the heat and controlled strength of his hand gripping hers.
He helped her to the dock and surprised her again by not releasing her hand immediately. “You did good back there.”
“You, too,” she replied softly. They stared into each other’s eyes, and everything from before was right there. The overpowering attraction. The blinding lust. The intense connection. Her stomach flip-flopped and she took a wobbly breath. So much for the last week of setting all this aside and pretending like they hadn’t had the best sex of their lives with one another.
“Dammit,” he breathed. “I can’t get you out of my head.”
“Then don’t try.”
“You don’t want me.”
She snorted. “Hah. You have no idea how much I want you.”
He stared at her for a long moment, and the charge continued to build between them, snapping and crackling like a static build-up on the verge of exploding. A promise of epic sex hung between them, stealing all the oxygen from the air and making her light-headed.
“Even after I scared you intentionally?” he asked low.
It had been intentional. Just training. He wasn’t an asshole—he’d just been doing his job, mo matter how unpleasant it had been for her. Or for him. His acknowledgemnt of it suddenly made it okay. She’d survived. Was the stronger for it. Had learned a valuable lesson about not letting anyone intimidate her. About keeping her wits and not panicking.
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