Ghost's Treasure

by Cheyenne Meadows

  "When do you want to shower? Before I do? After?"

  "Whenever." His voice remained flat as ever.

  She puffed out a breath. "Maybe I should have mentioned this earlier, but I have a thing about bathing." She paused until his eyebrow lifted just the slightest. Only then did she continue. "I much prefer to have clean, soap-scented people around me. I'm odd like that." A slow grin appeared on her face. "Now, I'm all about conserving water, but I have to draw the line at sharing a shower on a first date. Seems just a bit too rushed in my book on the relationship activities scale. Thus, I'm afraid one of us will have to bathe first, the other second. Simple math. So which would you like?"

  "You go first."

  "Great. As soon as I clean up here, I'll see if they left me any pajamas to wear."

  "No pajamas."

  The spoonful of soup stopped halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me? What do you mean no pajamas? This might be TMI, but I'm not one of those people who sleep in the nude."

  He finished chewing and then swallowed. "You need to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Unless you want to be on the run in nothing but a flimsy nightshirt, I suggest you wear day clothes to bed."

  "Oh." She took the bite of food off the utensil and swallowed. "In that case, I hope they provided more than thong underwear. I can't possibly wear butt floss for days on end."

  A quick glimpse found Ghost's face lightening just the slightest, as if he found her words amusing but had forgotten how to laugh. That's okay. If she stayed with him long enough, she'd get him to smile, perhaps even chuckle. A challenging goal but an important one.

  Chapter 12

  Hearing the soft click of a door opening, Ghost turned toward the sound, knowing Josie stepped from the bathroom into the middle bedroom right across the hall. True to her word, she helped him clean up their supper, then headed directly to the shower, carrying their backpack of supplies with her. Soft footfalls carried down the hall in his direction until Josie appeared from the shadows of the quaint hallway.

  "Your turn." She stepped fully into the room.

  He couldn't tear his eyes away. Workout pants covered her lower body while a long sleeved T-shirt fit perfectly over her trunk. The black material not only accentuated her blonde hair but clung snug enough to show off the modest curves of her breasts, which begged to be cupped and squeezed. Even devoid of makeup, her face radiated a natural beauty, a happy and healthy glow that only added to her prettiness. Those green eyes locked with his. Instead of the nauseating and stabbing pain of before, he felt an unexpected wave of desire.

  Angrily, he shoved the sensation aside. Lust was the last thing he needed to deal with right now.

  After Lindsay passed, he spent another year with the SEALs before turning in his resignation and returning to civilian ranks. Only he couldn't escape the ingrained fury, the overwhelming frustration of living each day knowing the drunk driver got off way too easy. He needed an outlet, something to do besides sit around and mourn the past.

  That's when his troubles actually began.

  "Ghost?" Josie's clear voice called to him.

  He pulled himself from the memories and blinked at her. "Yeah?"

  She shot him a tender smile. "I promise I left plenty of hot water for you. I'll be fine, if you want to go ahead."

  His gut clenched at the expression so reminiscent of his late wife. "Stay away from the windows." He stood up and strode her way, detecting the fresh, clean scent of her shampoo as he passed her by. Easily recognizing the musky aroma of his chosen hair care product, he decided one thing. Josie carried the scent of his shampoo well. Too well.

  By the time he emerged a few minutes later, still towel drying his hair, Josie stretched out across the couch, reading a leftover magazine, probably several months old. She glanced up at his arrival. Her eyes lit up, and she raked him from head to toe with an appreciative gaze.

  He withstood her appraisal, in his jeans and light sweatshirt, oddly enjoying her apparent approval, judging by her facial expressions. Her study wasn't flirtatious or suggestive. Instead, he found only interest and curiosity in her eyes as if she hadn't been around many men and found the male form intriguing.

  If he'd met her a few years back, he'd not waste any time in seducing her, carrying her to the bed, and spending the night balls deep in her depths until neither had the energy left to move. However, all the one-night stands in a two year period did nothing more than provide a temporary physical release for his stress, which always returned like a bad penny. Now, he had little desire to bring willing women home from a bar, get down and dirty in his bed, then send her packing the next morning. Too much drama, too little reward.

  Not to mention he needed his focus to protect the little athlete. Stripping down and screwing all night didn't fit that criterion.

  "Boxers or briefs?"

  He blinked at her unusual question. "What?"

  "Boxer or briefs?" She tapped her bottom lip with a finger. "I would toss in commando or even a thong, but something tells me you prefer to play bodyguard with a good pair of undies on."

  This wasn't the first glimpse into her sense of humor he'd seen in the past few hours. Probably wouldn't be the last. He didn't complain. Most women would be in hysterics or scared witless, so much so, he'd have to pry them away from him in order for him to pee in private. Not Josie. She seemed to take the situation in stride and barring her inquisitive nature, so far happened to be fairly easy to deal with. A bit of teasing from her, he could handle.

  "None of your business." He walked over the end of the couch and sat down.

  She frowned thoughtfully in his direction. "Do you ever go commando? If so, don't you worry about getting hair or even other parts stuck in the zipper? Talk about a major ouchie."

  "Why are you asking me this?" He didn't want to dissuade her, preferring a chipper woman to a cranky one, but the topic of his underwear wasn't up for conversation.

  "Because I want to know. It's not like I can go up to a man on the street and ask if he's running around without any underwear. First of all, he'd think I was tossing out a line that I wanted to find out for myself in his bed. Which I don't. On the other hand, it's not the sort of question a girl asks her father. Way too awkward."

  "So you picked me?"

  She smiled widely. "Yep. You're male and stuck with me for a few days. I decided I could find out all kinds of answers to questions I've had over the years."

  He groaned inwardly. His damn luck to be stuck with Miss Curiosity. "Whatever happened to not bugging me with questions and spending time in tranquil silence?"

  "I'm not bugging you with personal questions."

  He stared at her.

  "Well, okay. Maybe underwear choice is personal, but it's not personal. That means it's on the table. And, FYI, tranquil silence is overrated."

  "Are you always this chatty?"

  "Pretty much."

  Just great.

  "Can't you just tell me something about yourself? One thing. Whatever you want to tell me."

  He pondered her request for a long moment. "You're taking the middle bedroom tonight. The thick shrubs along the back wall of the house should discourage anyone from trying to enter the window, not to mention the alarm is set."

  "Where will you sleep?"

  "I won't."

  "Huh?" Her dimpled chin lifted as she tilted her head in puzzlement. "You have to sleep."

  "I'm nowhere near the end of my rope yet. If I need to sleep, I'll catnap."

  Her mouth opened, then shut again. "Okay then. I might as well hit the sack." She stood and headed toward the bedroom.

  "Yes."

  Spinning around, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, I've gone commando."

  "Did…"

  He shook his head. "One question. One answer. That's all you get."

  "For tonight?"

  "That's another question."

  "Argh." She threw up her hands, rolled her eyes, and moved gracefull
y down the hall.

  Whatever possessed him to give in to her, he'd never know. Encouraging her inquisitiveness wasn't a bright move, yet he couldn't refrain from throwing her a small bone. Maybe just this once she'd accept his answer and quell further questions. Yeah, and hell boasted of a ski resort, too.

  Chapter 13

  Josie woke the next morning feeling wrung out from a restless night in a new bed. Her mind kept replaying the phone calls and the unexpected visit from fake FBI agent, leading to a flight or fight rush, which forced her eyes open as she panted for breath. Her dreams mirrored her worst fears and worries, making for a nearly sleepless night.

  Glancing at the clock, she sighed and climbed out of bed, absently noting her wrinkled sweats. No help for them. Instead, she headed toward the bathroom to brush her teeth, wash her face, and try to tame her unruly hair into some form of ponytail for the morning.

  With those tasks finished, she quietly walked down the hall, pausing at the entrance to the living room. Ghost lay stretched out on the couch, rifle in hand, his eyes closed as his chest rose and fell in a slow, regular rhythm. About time he got some sleep.

  Unwilling to wake him, she took the opportunity to stare at the assassin turned bodyguard. His short brown hair remained in place without a single cowlick to tell of his sleep. Still wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, the items couldn't hide his muscular build, his highly conditioned body, the sheer size and power he carried.

  As impressive as his body was, Josie found his face all the more enthralling. A square jaw made for a stubborn chin, full lips appeared soft, probably the only body part that could lay to such a claim. A straight nose led up to his closed eyes and dark brown eyebrows. She thought him handsome before, but in this relaxed state, he stepped up a notch into the gorgeous category.

  "Are you going to stare all day?"

  She jumped at his voice.

  Slowly, his eyes opened and pinned her with his gaze.

  "Ummm. I was going to make breakfast but didn't want to wake you. So I was deciding what to do in the meantime." Her voice came out raspy from having just gotten up herself.

  He sat up. "Go ahead."

  A thread of guilt pushed her shoulders down. "I'm sorry to wake you. Goodness knows you need rest. I didn't mean to…"

  "Lady?"

  She bristled at the generic term. "I have a name, you know. It's Josie if you've forgotten. I'd prefer you use it instead of lady."

  He ignored her small rant. "I've been awake. Stop apologizing and do what you need to do."

  She blinked at his flat tone and abrupt answer. Basically, he told her to shut up in a roundabout way. She hated rudeness. Good thing her sheer stubborn nature refused to let her give up once she made up her mind to attain something, or she might reconsider her goal to put a smile on the man's face before they parted ways.

  "Do you want pancakes or eggs and bacon?"

  He stood and strode toward the window, peeking out over the early sunrise. "Whatever."

  "No preference?"

  He shook his head.

  "Okay. How do you want your eggs then?"

  "It doesn't matter. As long as I don't have to kill it first, I'll eat it."

  Frustrated, she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, I don't mind cooking. But I dislike wasting food. There's no reason I can't fix something that you like and will eat without feeling like you're on a cardboard diet."

  His eyebrow arched by the slightest degree.

  She took the small sign as positive. "So how do you want your eggs?"

  "Scrambled is fine."

  She nodded. "Or would you prefer an omelet?"

  "That'll work."

  She puffed out a breath but gave up trying to pry more information out of the man. She'd just fix one exceptional meal and watch his mouth water. With inspiration and motivation, she stepped into the kitchen and started gathering supplies.

  * * * *

  Ghost forked another piece of his plate-sized omelet and placed the food in his mouth, savoring the mixture of flavors with just a hint of spice and heat. "This is good."

  Josie grinned and sipped her juice. "Thank you. Becoming a gourmet chef was my fourth career choice." She tilted her head. "Maybe fifth. I can't remember exactly."

  "A librarian was your first choice?"

  She shook her head. "Actually, my very first choice was becoming a princess. By the time I reached my teens and realized only a handful of single princes existed in the world, I had to change options. The biathlon held high priority. I wanted to win the Olympic gold medal like everyone else in the sport. When I failed and realized the goal might be a bit lofty for my skills and abilities, I had to change gears once more." She shoveled a bit of egg into her mouth and chewed. "I already had my library science degree so went with that, deciding instead of spending a wad of money in cooking school, to simply keep food preparation casual rather than professional."

  Her rambling didn't bother him this morning. In fact, he found her clear pretty voice easy on the ears, like a bird singing in the spring. Besides, he found her interesting in some odd manner. More like I need white noise in the background to keep me on my toes.

  "Why did you become an assassin?"

  Her question broke through his thoughts. Setting his glass down on the table, he stared at her for a long moment, remaining mute.

  Her green eyes flickered for a moment before her face fell.

  She'd learn soon enough he didn't speak about his past, particularly some parts, which were hidden in secret or simply too painful to bare again.

  "Okay. Guess that's not up for discussion. How about this? Have you ever lost someone you were guarding before?"

  "I'm an assassin, not a bodyguard, lady."

  "But, you're…"

  "An assassin. A damn good one. The only reason I'm here is because a buddy asked a favor."

  She asked. He told. No sense in lying or tiptoeing around the tulips to appease her tender feelings. Maybe being upfront and real would shut her up.

  She actually smiled at him, wide enough to show even white teeth.

  He blinked, completely baffled by her reaction.

  "Then I'm one lucky girl. Who better to protect me than a man who makes a living tracking down and taking out the bad guys?"

  He sighed. Leave it to the peppy blonde to turn a positive light on his profession and their present situation. He shifted topics. "Is there anything I need to know about you?"

  She blinked at him. "Such as?"

  "Phobias, major medical issues, panic attacks. Anything that would hamper me further."

  "Let's see. Phobias? Nope. I can't say that I care for snakes, though. I might scream and run the other way, but I wouldn't classify that as a phobia. Medical issues? Nah. Seasonal allergies, but it's a little early yet. I might sneeze on you now and again, but that's about the extent of that one. No panic attacks." She tapped her lips with the fingers holding her fork. "The FBI didn't leave me any feminine hygiene products, but if this doesn't go on too much longer, I won't need them. If so, I guess we can swing by a store somewhere or just call Ryan for delivery."

  The thought of calling Ryan for tampons or pads sparked a bit of amusement. Ghost filed the idea away for possible future paybacks on the man who guilted him into this mess.

  "Any other negatives that you might need to know about me? I'm cranky if I don't get enough sleep. Oh, and my feet get cold at night if I don't wear socks to bed." She smiled up at him. "My assets? I can shoot, normally hit the target. Of course, I don't have my biathlon rifle with me, but I can adapt if necessary. I'm energetic, not afraid to work hard, and I can track down a heck of a lot of information on the computer if necessary." She paused for another sip. "I'm a clean freak. Not sure if that falls under the pros or the cons, though. I like people, love to hear their life stories, and am pretty easygoing."

  He barely resisted snorting at her impromptu list. "An optimist?"

  "Yep." She took another bite and grinned. "Alw
ays."

  Just great. I'm stuck with Mary Poppins.

  "Anything else you want to know?" She set her utensils down, reached for a napkin, and blotted her mouth.

  "How do you react under pressure?"

  She pinned his gaze. "I've participated at the Olympic level in biathlon. If I couldn't handle pressure, I wouldn't have made it that far. Nerves don't bother me once I have an outlet or get moving. That includes the shooting parts."

  "Can you shoot a man? Kill him?" He tossed out the question to put the idea in the back of her mind, plant the seed so to speak. While unlikely, in the event she had to defend herself, he needed to know she could step up to the task. Much better to find out ahead of time and plan accordingly. If she could hold her own, his job would be that much easier.

  Josie swallowed but didn't drop her gaze. "If I had to in order to protect myself or someone I cared for, then yes, I could shoot to kill."

  He nodded. Truth carried in her words. He only hoped if that time came, she could follow through. A person had to be mentally prepared to kill another. Waiting until hell arrived on their doorstep to decide rarely made for a good outcome.

  "Remember that, lady, and you just might live through this." Finishing his breakfast, he emptied the glass of juice, then began gathering up the remaining items to stick back in the fridge.

  Josie followed suit, clearing the table and setting the dirty dishes in the sink. "Is there anything that I need to know about you?"

  He shut the refrigerator door and looked at her. "I expect you to follow orders immediately, without question. I'll stick with the assignment as long as you don't buck me."

  A hint of worry flashed through her face before she nodded solemnly. "Understood."

  Chapter 14

  "Have you seen the dusting stuff?"

  He glanced up from his laptop, noting Josie darting around from place to place, checking cupboards and closets, the drawers and doors creaking and thumping as she opened and closed each one. She'd been energetic since she woke up, nearly pushing him to the brink of tying her down with duct tape if she didn't find a spot and settle.