The man who picked her up from her father’s home led her along a stoned path to a distant bungalow. He was a large man, stood a good six inches taller than her father. His thick muscular body had stood over her like a tower more than once when they were in a public setting.
He’d been quiet, almost too much for her own liking, but her father had introduced him as Carl Kuntz, an old friend. It was that knowledge that left her at least a little at ease despite her current situation.
There’d been three attempts on her life in the two weeks since she’d shot Jason Tovar. Her bodyguards had done their job, though one of them had gotten hurt while pushing her to the ground that first day she’d returned to her father’s home in New York. Still, a few bumps and bruises on him were far better than any of them being shot.
When they approached the small cabin, a man stepped outside. His dark brown hair blew in the wind, and he ran his hand through it to keep his longer bangs out of his eyes. His jeans were snug just enough to accentuate his muscled thighs hidden beneath. His upper body was covered by a sweatshirt, but something told Alena that his torso was covered in lean muscle.
“How are we looking?” Carl yelled to the man, loud enough to be heard over the whipping winds.
“Good. Not a sign of anyone. Regular patrols show no activity other than from the occasional boater, and we’ve got enough fuel for at least the next week.”
She and Carl stepped up onto the wooden decking, and she offered an uneasy smile, still in shock from what the past two weeks had brought into her life.
“You must be Alena.”
“Yes.” She held out her hand.
“Molitor. Well, Brandon Molitor. I’ll be guarding you.”
“Thanks.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she felt nervous, more so than when she’d been alone with Mr. Kuntz.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
“Will it?” she asked, not really sure she’d believe their answer anyway.
“Molitor here is one of the best. Worked with him myself many times. He’s not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Scout’s honor.” Brandon saluted her.
“Isn’t scout’s honor when you hold up three fingers?” she asked.
“We do things a little different in the Army, ma’am.” He grinned.
“Well, I can see you two will get along just fine. I should be heading out. Once you get inside you can remove that wig and the padded sweatpants. I had two other operators following us. We haven’t picked up anyone tailing us. You’re safe here.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Kuntz.” She smiled and offered her hand.
“Carl. And you’re welcome.”
Brandon motioned for her to step inside, and Carl handed her suitcase to him. They spoke quietly for a moment before Carl walked away and waved her a goodbye.
The cabin looked far more dilapidated than she expected. The walls had paint peeling with flakes scattered along the floor, and a window above the kitchen sink was missing a pane where it looked like a rock had gone through it.
“Probably not the kind of place you’re accustomed to, but no one will think to look for you out here.”
“Oh, it’s okay.” The look on his face said he didn’t really believe her. “No, honestly, this is fine. After the past two weeks, nothing really fazes me anymore.”
“All right, well, I’ll take your bag back to the bedroom, and then we can chat about how things are going to be around here, at least for a while.”
“The bedroom? There’s only one?”
He shrugged. “It’s a small place. The bedroom is yours, though. I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”
Alena looked at the small loveseat. Its brown cushions looked like they may have been blue at one time, and with several tears in the cushions, she wasn’t sure where the padding ended and the fabric began.
“This couch?”
“I’ve slept in worse conditions before. It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, do you at least have a sheet or something you can put over it? It looks like it’s a host to several diseases.”
He grinned. “I’ve got a blanket. Don’t worry about me.”
“Do we have a…bathroom at least?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “That door next to the kitchen.”
“Thank goodness for small miracles,” she muttered.
“Go get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
She watched him walk down the short hallway to the bedroom. He had an easy way about him. Despite his strong and brutish appearance, he didn’t seem nearly as scary as Mr. Kuntz had.
She stepped inside the bathroom and cringed slightly when she saw the grime covering almost every surface. With a wad of toilet paper in hand, she wet it with the ice cold water that trickled out of the sink and wiped down the toilet.
Despite her long morning since Mr. Kuntz had picked her up, she couldn’t get off that seat fast enough. Images of microscopic bugs crawling along her skin were giving her the heebie jeebies.
She washed up as best she could, ignoring the way the icy water stung her windburned face.
The frizzy red wig she wore was finally off her head and she could give herself a good scratch. The webbing had been irritating her scalp for hours, and she wondered how anyone managed to wear wigs on a regular basis.
She stripped her pants down and felt ten pounds lighter when they hit the floor. The panels inside the thighs and calves were filled with a heavy batting to make her appear heavier. After removing the bulky sweater she wore, she felt almost human again.
Wearing only a T-shirt, she suddenly was in the mood for a nap, but her current state of dress stopped her from opening the door.
“Umm…Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
His authoritative voice was loud, just on the other side of the door. “Do you think you could grab me a pair of my yoga pants from my bag?”
The door opened quickly, and she jumped back when his arm poked in holding a pair of her pants. “Will these do?”
“Umm…yes, thank you.”
She took them and quickly slid them on, unsure if she should be thankful for his quick thinking or shocked that he’d gone through her things.
Not a minute later, she was stepping out into the main living space. Brandon had set a blanket down on the couch and motioned for her to sit.
“You drink coffee?”
“Yes, please. Two creams and a sugar.”
He laughed. “Sorry, didn’t bring any of that stuff. It’s black or I can get you water.”
“No, it’s fine. Coffee please.”
He poured her a cup from a small carafe and handed it to her before taking a seat on a wooden table in front of the couch.
“So, Carl tells me you managed to kill the only son of a ruthless drug lord.”
Taking a sip of her coffee, she winced and turned to spit out the hot and crude beverage.
“Oh my God! What the hell is that?”
He raised his brows. “Coffee?”
“That is not coffee,” she said, placing her cup down on the floor beside her.
He shrugged. “I like mine a little strong.”
“A little strong? I’ve smelled crude oil that had a more fragrant aroma than that.”
“What can I say? International travel changes your taste buds.”
“You said there was water?”
He nodded his head. “In the fridge.”
She got up, retrieved a bottle, and took a sip. Looking out the window, she watched the tall grasses lying back against the sand, being pressed by the wind, which didn’t seem to let up.
“Are you sure we’re safe here?”
“Yes. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be here.”
“It does seem desolate. Mr. Kuntz said there was no one out here for miles.”
“Oh, there’s people out there. Just no one you can see.”
“Oh?” She turned back to him, surprised by his answer.
�
�If you could see them, they wouldn’t be serving much purpose, now would they?”
She offered a polite smile, but as grateful as she was for his protection, the whole severity of the situation was weighing heavily on her.
“You want to sit down?” he asked.
“I’m not sure what I want to do, to be honest.”
“I can tell.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” He nodded back toward the couch. “Have a seat.”
“Sorry,” she apologized and sat down, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy old sofa.
“No need to be sorry. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”
She shrugged. The man sitting before her didn’t look like he was that much older than her. His eyes, though, looked like they’d seen a million miles of hard road.
There was a scar above his left eye, which ran through his brow. Another longer one ran just along his right temple, disappearing behind his ear. She had no idea of the things he’d seen, but she was sure that her story paled in comparison to what he’d most likely experienced in his short life.
“Care to share?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your thoughts. You’re sizing me up. What do you think?”
She blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Hey, no harm no foul. You don’t know me. You’ve just been sent to live on an island with me all by yourself. It’s natural that you’d have some questions.”
“No, not really.”
“Don’t do that,” he stated. His voice was as serious as the expression on his face.
“Do what? I—”
“Look, Alena. I can’t keep you safe if you’re not going to be honest with me. The only way this is going to work is if you trust me. And I have to be able to trust you.”
He reached over and rested his hand on top of hers. She wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to be kind or reassuring. Either way, she’d felt a jolt from his touch. His strong hand covering hers felt powerful, as though that small gesture held a hidden promise that wasn’t being said.
“Trust me?”
“Yeah. I need to know that when I fall asleep on the couch you’re not going to panic and run off into the night.”
“Why would I do that?”
“People in your situation have done stranger things. The stress, it can get to a person. So I need to know you can keep it together. It’s the only way this is going to work.”
As if suddenly realizing where his hand was, he pulled it away, sitting back and moving a little further away.
“I…” She sighed, wanting full well to tell him she could do exactly what he was asking, but the truth was her sanity had been teetering just on the edge for days.
“Hey, we don’t have to figure it all out right now.” He took a swig of his coffee and got up from the table. “I’m going to make us some sandwiches. You like turkey?”
“Turkey’s great. Thank you.”
Instinctively, her eyes widened when she saw the large handgun sneaking out from the back of his jeans. She wasn’t sure why the sight surprised her. She’d seen her fair share of guns in her day. From security detail for her father, to the Secret Service at Washington D.C. affairs, she’d probably seen more guns than most people did in their entire lifetime. There was something about seeing it on this man, the jean-clad, quiet but direct bodyguard who’d been hired to protect her, that made her situation all the more surreal.
She continued to drink her water, pretending not to watch him from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help wanting to know more.
He was muscular, tanned, and had the body of a fitness model. Having him as her bodyguard may prove to be…distracting, at the very least.
He moved methodically, his actions purposeful from the way he sliced the bread to the way he spread the mayonnaise.
She wondered what made a man like him tick. What caused him to get into the kind of life that he had?
Did he have a family? Parents?
Who was Brandon Molitor, this man who basically held her life in his hands?
And was he going to be enough to stop Pedro Tovar from enacting his revenge?
Chapter Three
“She seems fine. Skittish, a bit mousy, but for the most part she seems to be holding up okay,” Brandon told Carl.
“Well, you know how these things are. She doesn’t know you, probably isn’t sure what to make of you.”
“Me? I’m one charming son of a bitch. I bet even Pari would agree.”
“Back off, Molitor.”
He chuckled. “Ahh…so my suspicions were right, heh?”
“What suspicions?” Carl asked, barely able to mask his annoyance.
“You and Pari got something going.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“Take it however you will, Commander.”
“You are an arrogant son of a bitch, Molitor. Always have been.”
Carl might have sounded annoyed, but Brandon knew the man well enough to sense a smile was on his face.
“What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“Uh-huh. We still have Rico and Mike making the rounds. You won’t see them, but they’re there. Owen and Shannon will pose as vacationers next weekend to bring you some more supplies. Weather permitting.”
“Just keep me updated on Tovar.”
“Roger that,” Carl replied before hanging up.
Brandon had just pocketed his cell phone when a noise caught his attention. An unfamiliar, almost squeaky sound echoed in the distance.
He tucked his phone back in his jeans and scanned the dark room. The wind had died down, but a whistling howl snuck in through the broken kitchen window. A sliver of light cast across the wooden floor, but it wasn’t enough to really make anything out.
His years of deployment in special operations had trained his eyes to work overtime, able to see even the slightest hint of movement in the darkest of environments.
He got up from where he sat and looked out the window onto the rocky terrain that surrounded them.
The shores seemed quiet. Only the gentle crashing of waves against the beaches filled the night air. He knew they were safe. He knew that they had two men out there. Still, his gut churned with the knowledge that Pedro Tovar was who he was protecting Alena from.
He’d come across many sick and twisted bastards in his day, but Tovar was by far one of the worst. If it wasn’t for him, Brandon would’ve never taken this job. He knew the danger Alena was in.
The same noise that alerted him minutes before came a second time. This time it was more distinct, and he knew exactly where it was coming from. He pulled the gun from his waistband and walked quietly back to the bedroom. The sounds he heard coming from Alena got louder and more distressed the closer he got.
He waited a moment, listening for sounds of anyone else before rounding the corner and taking aim. His adrenaline was pumping. He was ready to shoot at anyone who was threatening her.
Instead, he stood there for a moment, replacing the safety back to position as he looked down over her restless body. She was caught in some sort of dream. A nightmare was more like it. Her legs entwined with the thin bedsheet that was barely covering her.
Her head thrashed from side to side as her muffled screams got louder. Unable to watch her suffer a moment longer, he replaced his gun in his waistband and came to sit beside her on the bed.
“Alena.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her.
His actions didn’t wake her, and the state she was in only intensified. Though thought by many of his brothers in arms as being a heartless SOB, it broke a little bit of his deeply hidden heart.
Women, especially vulnerable women, held a special place with him. And there was something special about Alena. Maybe it was his natural drive to protect. Maybe it was because she was in danger. Or maybe it was because she
was so fucking beautiful that more than twice he’d found his thoughts wandering to what was hidden beneath those yoga pants.
“Wake up, Alena.” He shook her and was about to pull her up to a sitting position when her eyes shot open and she swung her arm out.
With a thud, Brandon went down on the floor, stunned by the shock of her right hook. “Jesus!”
“Brandon?”
“Yes, it’s Brandon. Who the hell did you think it was?”
He pushed himself up, rubbing at his jaw while wondering how someone so petite could pack such a punch.
“I’m sorry. I…guess I was dreaming.”
“Yeah, you were.” He sat down on the bed beside her. “Looked more like a nightmare, though. You okay?”
“I just punched you and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
He leaned over, resting his hand on her thigh. “I’ve felt worse.”
She dropped her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll live. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “I’m fine… A nightmare, like you said.”
“Hang on.”
He got up and walked to the kitchen to grab a water bottle. When he returned, he unscrewed the cap and handed it to her. “Drink this. It’ll help calm your nerves.”
She did as he asked. “Thank you. I really needed that.”
“How long have you been having them?”
“The nightmares? Ever since I…”
Her voice trailed off, and despite the darkness, Brandon saw the vulnerability in her eyes. He’d noticed it earlier in the evening when they’d been talking as well. She was putting on a good front, trying to act tough on the outside, but he could tell that she was buckling underneath the stress of it all. He’d seen it more times than he could count. It was the same look of broken strength that he’d witnessed in that young girl’s eyes back in Russia.
“Say it,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Say you killed him.”
She appeared stunned by his frankness. “I don’t really see what saying it is going to do.”
“It’ll make you accept it.”
“Accept it? I’ve accepted it fine, thank you.”
Men In Uniform Anthology Page 33
