What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3

by Cherise Sinclair

  A low growl came from the side, and she spun. Wolves! In terror, she stared at the undergrowth.

  “Frankie?” The deep rumbling voice was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.

  “Bull!”

  When he stepped out of the forest onto the trail, she ran straight at him—and he pulled her into his arms.

  Into safety.

  * * *

  The little New Yorker was twined around him tighter than a morning glory vine…and shaking so hard her bones should’ve rattled. At his feet, Gryff whined, tail whipping furiously.

  Jesus, what’d happened to Frankie? Bull’s jaw clenched. They’d heard gunshots a while back…

  “Easy, Frankie. You’re all right.” But was she? “Hawk, is she hurt?”

  “Yeah, bro. Bloody sleeve. Clever girl wrapped a bra around the wound. Clothes are ripped.”

  Bull stiffened.

  Hawk said hastily, “Torn up from the brush, not a person.”

  Frankie pulled back, gripped Bull’s arms, and gave him a shake. “Quiet. They’ll hear. They have guns.”

  His suspicions confirmed, fury rose inside him. Someone had shot her.

  “Sweetheart.” He tilted her chin so he could meet her eyes. He kept his voice low and easy, despite the boiling in his blood. “No one is close to us right now. Trust me on this.”

  “You’re sure?” She checked his expression, then Hawk’s.

  When they both nodded, she started to sag in his arms.

  “Hold still a minute.” He moved her bra-dressing enough to check the wound on her arm. A bloody groove across her deltoid. The bullet had missed shattering her shoulder joint by mere inches.

  Hawk’s mouth tightened, and he drew his pistol.

  Reacting to their anger, Gryff growled, and the fur down his spine rose.

  Gently, Bull put the dressing back in place. It would serve until Caz could do a better job.

  Wrapping an arm around Frankie’s waist to keep her upright and moving, he headed down the trail toward his truck.

  “Who shot you?” Bull asked.

  Hawk fell in behind, guarding their six.

  She hesitated and said slowly, “I didn’t see whoever it was. I just heard shooting, and I ran.”

  Bull turned and considered the direction she’d come and saw Hawk doing the same. Their gazes met. The only people back there would be PZs. It wasn’t the first time someone had been fired on for getting too close to their area.

  Bull’s jaw clenched. He’d kill the bastards and raze their buildings to the ground.

  She wasn’t a local; she wouldn’t know to avoid the assholes. But…it wasn’t hunting season, and there was nothing around to attract a tourist. She’d said she didn’t plan to do more hiking, so why was she out here?

  He bit back the question. This wasn’t the time. “Running was smart. You didn’t see the shooter at all?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I fell off a ledge. That’s how I got scraped up. But since I wasn’t sure who was wandering around the woods shooting, I didn’t go back to that trail.”

  “Another wise decision.” Bull studied her pale, scratched face. A vivid bruise marked one cheek. He could feel the tremors shake her at intervals.

  “I was, maybe, a little bit lost, so I’m glad we ran into each other.”

  “Just a little, hmm?”

  Her mouth curved, and she held up her hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Hardly worth mentioning, really.”

  A resilient personality. A sense of humor. Even when terrified, she’d coped with her wound and being chased. He’d known soldiers who would’ve run until they bled out.

  Unable to resist, he bent and kissed her beautifully full lips and felt her lean into him. Felt her respond. “I’m glad we found you, then. Let’s go get your arm taken care of.”

  With Gryff’s furry body resting on her bare feet, Frankie sat, warm and dry, on a kitchen chair in Bull’s home while Doc Caz worked on her arm. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she stared out the huge front windows. Rain was dancing over the waters of the lake, turning the turquoise to gray.

  It’d started drizzling a while back, soon after Bull and Hawk found her in the forest. Although she’d gotten soaked, the hike out to the south—on a different trail—had been easier.

  Despite being exhausted, she’d made mental notes of the distinguishing landmarks—a massive fallen spruce, a streamlet. Next time—and there would be a next time—she’d use that trail to get to the PZ compound.

  The path had ended at two cabins owned by Knox and Chevy, the town’s handymen. Bull’s red pickup was there—and he’d tossed her car keys to his rather menacing buddy, Hawk, who said he’d retrieve her car.

  Bull would’ve taken her to the health clinic, but the doc had already left for here. It seemed that Bull, Cazador, and Hawk were brothers, and each had a house at this place—the Hermitage—where five two-story cabins curved around a shared lakeside courtyard.

  Now, freshly showered, hair wet and straggling down her back, she sat in the kitchen in her boy briefs and Bull’s T-shirt that was longer than a dress. She was braless, too, since her bra was soaked with blood—her blood, which really should be kept safely inside her body, not ruining her clothing.

  Let’s not repeat this experience.

  “All done.” Caz finished dressing the gunshot wound and sat back. “Are you sure you don’t want something stronger for pain?”

  “No. Ibuprofen is fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pain meds mess with my mind—and I get more anxious than I would without them. The pain’s not that bad, and I’d rather stay clear-headed.” Especially now.

  To change the subject, she studied the tidy white wrap around her arm. “I’ve never had a doctor make a house call before. Do you do this often?”

  “Not often, no, but I would not want the mean bull to pound on me. He punches too hard.” His warm brown eyes danced with laughter.

  Standing beside Frankie, supervising, Bull patted her shoulder. “The doc already informed me his bill for the house call will be three jars of high bush cranberry jam.”

  Frankie frowned. “But I have money. You shouldn’t have to pay him.”

  “Not a problem.” A dimple appeared with Bull’s smile. “I canned extra last fall to use as bribes.”

  Caz scowled. “There is no generosity in his soul.”

  “Not for you assholes.” Bull shook his head and told her, “My brothers are worse than locusts. Given a chance, they’ll eat me out of house and home.”

  “It is true.” Caz nodded solemnly. “When the bull was small, we stole his food. Starved him. It’s why he’s so undersized, now.”

  Frankie burst out laughing as she looked up…and up…and up at Bull.

  He was grinning.

  She loved the way the two teased each other. Nonetheless, she’d never seen brothers who resembled each other less.

  “You should have some of his jam, chica,” Caz told her. “And if you’re still here in September, we’ll draft you to pick cranberries for next year’s batch.”

  Caz’s phone made a muted sound, and he checked the text. “Ah, I must return to the clinic. A hiker’s feet got up close and personal with a pot of boiling water.”

  “Oh, ouch.”

  “I’m glad you’re here where Bull can keep an eye on you.” He gave her a quick, blinding smile.

  “Thank you again, Doc.”

  “De nada.” Caz picked up his bag and headed out the sliding glass door, passing a tall, muscular man with a badge on his chest. A police officer.

  When the man walked into the kitchen area, Bull set a hand on her shoulder. “Frankie, this is another of my brothers. Chief MacNair. Francesca Bocelli.”

  Another brother? Smiling, she shook the chief’s hand. “We met at the bar on my first night there.”

  “That we did.” He pulled up a chair and sat facing her. Notepad in hand, he inclined his head. “If you wouldn’t mind, Ms. Bocelli, I’d like to hea
r what happened.”

  She gave him the same information she’d given Bull and Hawk. Out hiking. Didn’t see who shot her.

  The last thing she wanted was to focus attention on the PZ compound. Not until Kit and Aric were out—and then she’d come down on them like a runaway subway train. Because the bastardi had shot her, and she wasn’t even on their land.

  “Just wandering around, hmm?” The chief’s blue eyes sharpened. “No idea where you were?”

  “That’s ri—”

  Bull set his hand on her shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Hawk backtracked you. He said you half-circled the PZ fence. Why?”

  She averted her gaze, hearing again the snapping sound of gunfire, felt the fiery line a bullet carved into her arm.

  No, don’t think about that now.

  “Frankie?” Bull prompted.

  She was all about honesty, but…as when cooking, a bit of spice could make anything easier to swallow.

  “This is a little embarrassing.” She wrinkled her nose. “I like knowing what makes people tick. I even like listening to gossip”—totally the truth—“and there’s a lot of talk about your crazy fanatics.”

  After all, Bull had seen her talking to the PZ women in the grocery store. “Since I’ve wanted to learn to hike—”

  Bull frowned, undoubtedly recalling she’d said she wouldn’t go out in the woods.

  Oops.

  She hastily added, “I got tired of being viewed as the city girl and watched some YouTube videos about hiking. Anyway, I took my stroll in the direction of the Patriot Zealot’s so-secret compound. Just to see what was in there.”

  The police chief’s jaw went hard—and so did Bull’s—and now she had two men frowning at her.

  No matter how uncomfortable, she preferred that they believed her to be an idiot rather than think she was surveying the PZ land for a real reason.

  “Could you tell if the gunfire came from inside the fence?” the chief asked.

  “I couldn’t say. It wasn’t from behind me, but…” She shrugged and winced as the movement pulled on her wounded arm.

  The cop glanced at Bull.

  “Hawk wasn’t sure,” Bull said. “Her tracks at that point were buried underneath a batch of other footprints.”

  The ones who’d chased her.

  The chief’s expression turned sour. “I’ll speak to Reverend Parrish…and will get the usual run-around. That they don’t know anything. That they heard gunfire and went out to see if someone needed help.”

  Oh, sure they had…out of the goodness of their little hearts.

  She just checked the cop to see if he had more questions.

  “I wish I could say I’d arrest the shooter, but it’s unlikely. Other hikers and hunters have been fired upon when in that vicinity. The Zealots are practiced at making sure no one sees exactly who did the shooting. I’m damned sure it’s them, but I can’t prove it.” Chief MacNair appeared as if he’d like to tear the compound apart with his bare hands.

  Huh. This law enforcement officer certainly didn’t like the Patriot Zealots. He couldn’t be the one who Kit had written about in her letter.

  Eyes simmering with fury, Bull wore the same frustrated expression as the cop.

  The chief rose. “Thank you, Ms. Bocelli. I’ll let you get some rest.” His voice took on an edge of command. “Now that you’ve seen the compound, please stay away from it.”

  Not going to happen.

  She put on a friend’s thick southern accent. “But, Chief, it’s such a pretty fence, and the people are so hospitable, bless their hearts.” She put a hand on her chest and sagged back into the chair. “Although, I do say, being shot at has quite reduced my sense of adventure.”

  Bull’s deep laugh sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.

  Chief MacNair grinned at her, then left the way he’d come in—across the deck to the courtyard.

  Frankie turned to Bull. “Don’t tell me, he has a house here, too?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “How many brothers do you have?” Remembering how they’d just strolled in, she eyed the deck door. Her city paranoia was outraged. “Don’t you lock anything up?”

  “Just us four.” He grinned and tugged a lock of her hair as he answered her second question. “Anything that faces the outside is battened-down. Doors into the courtyard, not so much. Usually only at night.”

  She’d noticed how their tall wire fencing connected the houses together and then continued down to the lake on either side, totally enclosing the semi-circle, leaving it open only to the water. “Why does the fencing around the PZ compound feel like a prison but yours feels like safety?”

  Bull tucked a hand under her undamaged arm and pulled her to her feet. “Because our fence is to keep out moose and bears and intruders, but not to keep anyone inside. If someone wants to leave, they can.”

  The Patriot Zealot fencing really was a prison, holding Kit inside.

  Frankie frowned. Today had sure been one major setback. How dare the bastardi shoot at her.

  But she’d located the compound and knew more of what she was up against now. Like guards in those watchtowers. Her foray hadn’t been a complete failure.

  To Frankie’s surprise, Bull didn’t lead her toward the garage and his pickup but took her between the two kitchen islands into the living room area.

  He had an interesting home. The back half of the big two-story house had a hallway to the garage. A staircase led to the second floor. The entire front of the house, open to the ceiling rafters, had windows facing the lake. She could even see her cabin across the water.

  Inside, the room’s warm brown and cream colors were echoed in the river-stone-lined corner nook that held a black wood stove. Rather than a traditional couch and chairs, a U-shaped leather and suede sectional curved around a big-ass television. Far too inviting. “Um. I should go home.”

  “No, you should have a seat and relax for a while.” He smiled, but his arm around her waist was unyielding as he seated her where she could see out the huge display windows. On the deck, planters held cheerful pansies that brightened the gray day.

  “Bull, I really do appreciate all your help, but—”

  “Caz wanted you to stay here for a while to make sure you’re recovered. And I want you here.” Bull sat beside her and took her hand. “Caz and I have been in combat. Even if you deal well at the time, the shock of getting shot will catch up with you.”

  His black eyes trapped hers. “If you have trouble, I want you here with me.”

  “Listen, I’m perfectly—”

  “Is the yorkie yapping at you?” The sandpaper-rough voice made her jump.

  Hawk walked in from the deck.

  “She’s a mouthy one, yeah.” Bull smiled.

  Hawk had remote blue-gray eyes in a scarred face. Thick blond hair was yanked back in a tie. His beard was short. Full sleeves of tats and more scars decorated his arms. This fair-skinned brother certainly didn’t resemble Bull or Caz. Neither did Gabe.

  “It’s good to officially meet you, Hawk.”

  He gave her a quick assessing look, nodded approval at the dressing on her arm, then handed over her car keys. “It’s in Bull’s driveway.”

  “Thank you. I really, really appreciate it.” She caught a half-smile on his face before he glanced at Bull and jerked his head toward the deck.

  Bull rose and followed him for a talk outside.

  When he returned, Frankie asked, “What was that Hawk called me when he came in?”

  Bull flashed a smile. “Ah, he’s a bit sparse on words. He shortened New Yorker to yorkie.” Plucking the keys from her hand, Bull tossed them into a coffee table basket that held his wallet and keys.

  “Yorkie? Like the fluffy dogs that bark all the time?” Yappy dogs. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced toward the door.

  “Mmmhmm, soft, fluffy dogs with big dark eyes. Known for being bold and brave despite their size.” His fingers danced over her hair, fluffing it.
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br />   She looked up to object, and he took her mouth, kissing her so gently, so carefully, so…thoroughly, that she melted back into the couch.

  Ooooh, such a kiss, even better than the one she’d gotten on the trail.

  Even as she lifted her hand, intending to pull him closer, he straightened with a reluctant sigh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

  “You didn’t.” She gave him a wry smile. “I think you know that.” Because she wanted him as much or more than he wanted her—and he was too astute to misread the signs. Even now, the feeling of his arm against hers was making goosebumps rise on her skin. He’d taken a shower and each breath brought her the crisp, clean scent of his soap.

  She’d always been attracted to him, but this almost dying stuff? Somehow, all she wanted right now was to have him take her. Hard. Pound away and let her know that she’d survived. The need was almost primal.

  Biology was a bitch, wasn’t it?

  “Nonetheless.” He shook his head. “Hang out for a while. Read a book; take a nap. You’re safe here—and you can relax.”

  “But I can’t just intrude on your evening and—”

  “Sure, you can.” He smiled easily. “All I’d be doing tonight is paperwork anyway. I’ll be at the dining room table.”

  “Oh.” Despite the smile, his expression was uncompromising. She might as well give in. “Well. Thank you.”

  “Very good answer.” He pulled a golden Sherpa-lined fleece blanket off the back of the sectional. The feeling of his hands tucking it around her, being so very gentle, sent another frisson of desire over her skin.

  No, don’t grab him, Frankie.

  From a bookshelf against the wall, he brought over a mix of books. “I don’t have a large selection of genres.”

  Setting aside her naughty thoughts, she glanced at the titles. Children’s books, thrillers, and… “Horror?”

  “The kid’s books are for when I have my niece over. The rest are mine. I also have gardening or recipe books if you’d prefer.”

  “Much as I like gardening books, my only plants are on my apartment balcony.” Grief stabbed her heart. How she missed her summers gardening with Nonna where they’d pick produce and then cook together. Her sisters had never wanted to spend time on the farm; it’d been just Frankie and Nonna—and the rest of the Italian clan.