Military Heroes Romantic Suspense Collection

by V. R. Marks

  First, the queen. There would be plenty of time to plan the next game.

  * * *

  Eva didn't think she'd met a better man – on either a professional or personal level – than Carson Morris. She wasn't sure how he managed to know just what to do or say to make her feel better, but she was grateful that he kept doing it.

  She wasn't used to feeling fragile. Despite doing most of her work in a room with more computers and gadgets than people, she'd always felt like an integral part of a strong team. Bakr's tactics were working; distracting her with worrisome stunts and isolating her.

  It was a game. She didn't have to like it; she just had to find a way to win it.

  "Any sign of the sedan?"

  "They're probably already at the range."

  "Because you cleared this with Ross," she said remembering.

  "He scares me," he said with a theatrical shudder. "No way I'd run off with his prized tech guru without giving him a head's up."

  "Right." She took a long, deep breath, pushing aside the details stashed on the flash drive. Nothing she could do about it now and as enlightening as it had been, it hadn't unlocked anything new about that night.

  When would she remember what Bakr thought she knew? What Abe needed her to know?

  Without that memory, and without Bakr in custody, they couldn't use information on the flash drive to take him down. When she got back to the FBI set up, she'd enlist their resources and see what they might do together to get her brain to cooperate and resolve this damned situation.

  "You're okay to shoot?"

  She rubbed her shoulder. "As long as we're not firing an AT-4."

  "Deal. I only have the revolver and my department issue nine-millimeter."

  "Sounds like plenty."

  "You're okay between the ears?"

  "That's fine too," she said, tapping her temple.

  It became apparent as they checked in that Carson was a regular here. She gave herself a mental shake. He was a sheriff's deputy. Of course he'd be a regular at the local firing range. When they were directed to a lane outside, the bite of winter air and tang of spent ammunition cleared away her mental cobwebs. She hadn't done any qualifications outdoors since leaving the Army. Already she felt better, more centered, by the physical focus required to do things right here.

  With the ear protection looped around her neck and eye protection propped on her head, she loaded the cylinder and flipped it back into the gun with a grin. "Revolvers are the best," she said as he checked his clip.

  "For six rounds."

  "If you use 'em right six is plenty," she teased. When the range light went green she put the ear and eye protection in place and raised the revolver. Both eyes open, gun braced with both hands, she took aim at the target.

  The .22 was a sweet little piece with the smooth action and the smallest of kick. In close quarters, she could be effective with it.

  Six rounds in the target, she popped out the empty cylinder and laid the weapon down, muzzle pointing downrange. The light went red and she and Carson, along with two other shooters, walked out to the targets.

  Finding six holes in a loose group low and to the right, she swore.

  "What's wrong? You put all six in the target," Carson said.

  She circled each hole with a red marker. "I should have better control by this point."

  "Could be worse," he said as they turned to walk back to the firing line.

  She arched a brow.

  "You have a grouping. I figured you'd be all over the place."

  Eva gasped in mock outrage and punched him in the shoulder. He overplayed the stagger and a bullet whizzed between them – where he'd been a split second before.

  It seemed like things unfolded in slow motion as she watched the bullet dig a furrow into the ground.

  No cover, no escape. Their weapons were useless, out of reach, at the firing line. Time suspended, she willed her feet to move, her legs to cooperate as Carson caught her arm and urged her to run. He sheltered her body with his and two more bullets missed them by the narrowest of margins.

  "Inside," he ordered. He wasn't shouting, but it felt that way in her ear with her senses heightened.

  She felt naked, utterly exposed, in the few seconds they were apart. She stood inside the double doors, praying he'd come through them without any bullet holes.

  "Ammunition!" Carson stormed inside.

  The kid behind the counter scrambled, tossing boxes at them. She fielded one, Carson snagged the other.

  He held her back with an arm bar move as he looked out over the parking lot. "No."

  "No what?"

  "We can't leave in my car." He turned back to the kid behind the counter. "Jeremy! Your keys."

  "J.C. you can't –"

  "Now. We'll trade."

  With an eager grin Jeremy fished a key ring out of his pocket and they swapped. "Side lot."

  "Don't drive it until Sheriff Cochran says you can."

  He motioned Eva closer. "You have the phone?"

  She nodded.

  "Leave it here."

  Pulling it out of her pocket, she carefully set it on the floor.

  "Good. Let's go."

  She followed him out the side door and straight to the car with the flashing parking lights.

  "Get in the back. On the floor."

  "I can help if –"

  "I'll let you know."

  She found herself sharing the space behind the front seats of the aging SUV with fast food wrappers and a pair of muddy boots. At least she hoped it was mud. "What's happening?"

  She expected him to tear out of the parking lot. Instead he maneuvered slowly out of the space and drove away from the range as if he had nowhere to be and all day to get there.

  "We're moving to a safe location."

  "Got that."

  "You don't think the sniper will notice the car leaving the lot?"

  "He's got his hands full with the other two shooters on the range."

  "I didn't hear return fire." How had she missed it?

  He didn't answer and she couldn't blame him. It wasn't easy to behave in a calm and rational manner when that fight or flight instinct kicked in. When everything inside told you to bolt – and fast.

  Being tucked back here out of sight, with Carson dealing with the immediate physical threat, reminded her of her active duty days when she unraveled intel while the team handled things on the ground. Except she was absolutely blind and mostly useless right now.

  Her heart pounding, she forced herself to breathe deep and slow, despite the unappealing aroma of the cluttered floorboards. "How about we pay Jeremy back for the inconvenience with a gift card for detailing."

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  She braced against another abrupt turn, grateful he wasn't driving any faster. "Are we being tailed?"

  "I don't think so, but I'm not taking the chance."

  She felt the car slow, heard the sirens of emergency vehicles blow by. Anyone on Bakr's team would be looking for a man and a woman in a deputy's car. "Fair enough. Let me know when I can stop being a sack of potatoes down here." Being useless wasn't an acceptable long term solution.

  "Will do. Hang in there."

  It was the only option, so she went with it. Replaying those critical seconds in her mind, she tried to recall the return fire, to remember anything about the sniper's location. But she'd been looking at the target, not the tree line.

  What kind of desperation drove a person to launch an attack at a police-operated firing range?

  There wasn't much else she could do until they got back to Ruth's house and the FBI set up. The only support she could offer Carson was to sort out the information she had and brainstorm solutions to put a stop to Bakr's power play.

  The car lurched and bounced along and she didn't bother to ask if they'd gone off-road. For all she knew Carson was taking back roads and hunting trails to Ruth's house. Not a bad plan, really. She'd have bruises on her ribs and knees
, but all of that was better than a bullet in her head. Or his.

  Analyze. Assess. Abe had said Bakr had tasked a three person team to track her down and force her to give up whatever intel he thought she had. One of those three men was loyal to Abe.

  "Oh! I've got it," she said, pushing up enough to peek over cracked plastic of the center console. "Abe's man is the sniper."

  "What? Where?"

  "Not here," she began, but Carson hit another rut that strained the suspension and tossed her back. She landed on her healing shoulder and hissed at the lance of pain.

  "Shit. Eva?"

  "I'm fine," she lied, trying to draw air into her lungs.

  "Stay down. Please."

  "Staying," she rasped. She'd seen just enough through the windshield to know it was overkill. There was no way anyone else was out here touring this anonymous field with them. And a sniper at the police range couldn't possibly have found them and set up in the stand of trees she'd seen.

  The sounds changed as the tires rattled over something different. "What was that?"

  "Bridge."

  She couldn't recall a bridge on any route to Ruth's house. "Where are we?"

  "Just a few more minutes."

  She waited it out, hoping like hell wherever they wound up had a decent shower.

  He slowed, shifted, and backed up again. "One more second."

  His door opened and she heard him wrestling with something outside of the vehicle, and watched the loose weave of camouflage netting mar her limited view of treetops through the rear window. All things considered, she sided with him on this. It wasn't paranoia when they really were after you.

  Then the back door opened and she looked up at him, except he was upside down. Twisting around, she tried to smile. "Hi."

  He scowled, taking in the trash she was lying in. "Car detailing. Yeah. That's a plan, but he should do it himself."

  "Can I supervise when the time comes?" She let him help her out of the car.

  "Sure. Watch your head."

  "Where did you come up with the netting?"

  He pointed to a box tacked against the base of a tree. "This is one of the parking areas for hunters who come out this way. Some of them think it fools the wildlife."

  "Got it." As they stepped out of the shelter of the netting, she gasped. "Whoa." She realized with a start that this is what the middle of nowhere must look like.

  "Where are we?"

  "Turkey Run hunt club." He loaded the revolver and handed it to her. Checking he had a full clip in his sidearm, he tucked it back into the holster at his hip.

  "Are we planning to go hunting now?"

  "No. And I'm not planning on being hunted anymore. It's been slow out here this season. We'll be safe in the cabin."

  She looked around, noting a distinct lack of any kind of structure. "How rustic is this cabin?"

  Her visions of a long, hot shower were fading fast.

  "It beats a deer stand, but isn't as posh as the motel in town. I purposely used this spot for the car because it's furthest from the cabin."

  "But the cabin exists?" She would not complain. He'd saved her from a sniper for heaven's sake. "With four solid walls and a sturdy roof?" She told herself to shut up and deal. Her team had faced far worse conditions in the line of duty a little mud and trash weren't the end of the world.

  "Hey." He waited for her to meet his gaze. "Trust me," he said, grinning down at her.

  "I do." She watched his expression fade from a cocky relief to something far more serious. Mesmerized, she wasn't quite ready when he suddenly snatched her into a fierce embrace.

  "I thought… " his voice trailed off as his arms banded tighter.

  Sliding her arms around him, she let herself cling, understanding everything neither of them wanted to put into words right now.

  "How's the shoulder?"

  "Good enough." Belatedly, she realized she was putting all of the foul smell on him. She leaned back. "I must smell awful. You don't have to put yourself through this."

  "It's a short walk. The fresh air should knock some of it off."

  "A girl can hope." Falling in beside him, she let him take her hand as they started hiking deeper into the trees. "So, about this cabin."

  "There's a shower."

  "How do you do that?"

  "What?"

  "You always seem to know exactly what I want to know."

  He wriggled his nose and sniffed. "Not a big stretch in this case."

  She smiled, relaxing a fraction. Putting her at ease was another thing he did well. Most men just weren't that comfortable around her. Dangerous circumstances aside, she was going to miss him when this was over.

  "In the car you said something about the sniper."

  "Abraham has a man on Bakr's team. It must be the sniper."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "You're not dead."

  "It's a good start."

  "Yes, it is." She squeezed his hand. "I've been replaying it over and over. Not obsessing," she insisted. "There wasn't anything else to do while you were driving.

  "If I hadn't shoved you when I did, that bullet would have winged you, much like the bullet that tagged Bart. The next two shots went dead center between us."

  "You're counting those misses as skill rather than our good luck or the shooter's bad aim?"

  She nodded. "Bakr wouldn't have anyone on this job who wasn't a crack shot. Oh!"

  "What?"

  "I remember the return fire now."

  "Shock and adrenaline warp perspective."

  "Very true, deputy. That's excellent."

  "Shock and adrenaline?"

  "No. The return fire. It will help whoever it is maintain his cover. Bakr doesn't tolerate mistakes. He'd have the sniper killed for failing without a second thought."

  Warming up from the walk, she unzipped her jacket and fanned it trying to dissipate the pungent fumes clinging to her.

  "Washer and dryer in this cabin?"

  "Nope. It's primarily a guy place."

  "Don't men ever want to be clean?"

  "We do, just not when we're hunting." He lifted their joined hands. "It's right there."

  "Hmmm." She looked at the cabin. "What's your Internet access like?"

  "You packing a computer I don't know about?"

  "Good point." How would they manage to make any progress on the case without even a smart phone?

  "What it lacks in formal amenities, it makes up for in privacy."

  "It'll be hard to flush Bakr out when we can't even contact him."

  He grunted and she glanced up to see a hard scowl clouding his features. "A phone call to the right number should be enough."

  "What's that mean?"

  "I was counting on you having a few key numbers memorized."

  "You'd be right. But Bakr's texts were coming from a blocked number."

  "I don't think that will be a problem in the long run."

  She stopped abruptly. "What are you thinking?"

  He pushed a hand through his hair and studied the sky before meeting her gaze. "It takes time to set up a sniper's nest. Who knew you were working at the court house? Who knew we'd be at the range?"

  "You said you told Ross about the range."

  "Right."

  "He wouldn't betray us. No one on the perimeter team knew, did they?"

  "Nope. Besides, all of them are friends with either Ross or the sheriff."

  "Well I didn't post anything on the FBI computers."

  "You're forgetting the team in the sedan was FBI. We talked about going to the range a couple of times in the den and in the kitchen. They weren't waiting for us when we left Grandma's nursery.

  "That's absurd. The FBI –"

  "Wanted kept in the loop if I recall."

  She shivered at the implications. "You think there's a leak," she whispered.

  "Come on, let's get inside," he said, draping an arm over her shoulders.

  "I'm not cold." Her mind was spitting out con
spiracy theories like a popcorn machine. "That would mean Abe's in danger. We have to tell Ross. Nichols. Someone."

  "We will. But I want you to get a shower and think it through. You're the analyst, not me."

  She didn't argue, but she thought he was doing a pretty fine job of analyzing.

  As they approached the cabin, she recognized Morris workmanship in the tidy log building with a wide, low-slung porch that seemed to wrap all the way around. Carson sorted through his key ring and found the right one. He pushed the door open and motioned for her to go on in.

  He gave her the grand tour of the front room, the kitchen, and the short hall that ended with a bathroom splitting two bunk rooms.

  "Not bad." The claw-footed bathtub looked like absolute luxury.

  "Towels are in the closet there." He pointed. "You go ahead and clean up and I'll get a fire going."

  He closed the door behind him and she stripped out of her smelly clothing in record time. Her hair smelled like stale French fries and something she didn't want to contemplate. Ugh.

  It didn't occur to her until the spray was beating down on her head and the scent of an Irish meadow was swirling around her that she didn't have a change of clothes.

  Her first thought was to use that misfortune to their mutual advantage and jump him. Not bad as plans went and she believed one hundred percent in following intuition. Warming to the idea, she decided what the plan lacked in finesse she could more than make up for in sexual satisfaction.

  Turning off the taps, she squeezed the excess water out of her hair and swept the curtain aside.

  Chapter 12

  Carson froze in the bathroom doorway when the taps shut off. He'd gone through the clothing his sister kept stashed out here and found a sweatshirt and pants that would get Eva through until her clothes aired out.

  He opened his mouth to warn her when the curtain rattled across the rod. In the face of Eva's naked beauty, he could only stare, slack jawed, at the view.

  He'd gotten a pretty clear idea of her form last night, but this was the stuff of fantasies. His imagination hadn't done justice to her stunning curves. Knowing it was rude, he couldn't stop staring at her full breasts, narrow waist and subtle flare of her hips.

  "I might just steam dry if you keep looking at me that way."