CHAPTER SEVEN
Russel drove through the darkness, wipers slapping out a beat as they worked to swish the rain to either side. After years in the desert, the endless rain made him antsy. Almost as if it was hiding danger that would pop out at him when he least expected it. Ready to wash away any evidence that he’d ever existed.
Of course, it could be the three weeks of little sleep and a lifetime’s worth of stress. He’d have thought he’d be over worrying about anything after all his years in the service. But, sitting there, willing Quinn to walk through the door night after night because he literally had nothing else to go on—no other way to find her other than going back to the café and demanding answers—had taken more of a toll than most of his missions combined.
Overseas, he’d always had a concrete objective. That paired with reasonable intel had been enough to steady his nerves. After all, his end game was always the same—find his downed comrade and bring his ass back alive. Even if he was deployed with a team, it didn’t change his directive. He was there to keep his brothers in one piece or patch them back up when things went sideways. It didn’t matter if he was hurt. If there was heavy fire. If a teammate went down, Russel went in.
But that wasn’t what Quinn required. She wasn’t injured. She didn’t need him to bandage her arm or keep pressure on an open wound. Her situation was the equivalent of cutting off half of him—the best half. The part that healed instead of killed. And that realization had made his heart race. He didn’t question his ability to keep her safe—to eliminate any threat. That was a given. A reflex honed from years of training. He just hoped he didn’t lose sight of who he really was in the process. Become worse than the monsters chasing her.
He glanced over at her. Though she’d fought it, she’d drifted off almost immediately, her body turned toward him, tucked against the seat. Her head rocked a bit from the motion of the truck, and her lips twitched as she whimpered quietly.
He frowned. She’d been restless for the last ten minutes, brow furrowing, fists clenching then releasing. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her lids, and he suspected the dream wasn’t a good one. He reached for her hand, lightly holding it in his for a moment. Quinn shifted, squeezed her fingers, then settled, once again, drifting off. And Russel’s heart kicked up.
He’d held lots of soldiers’ hands. Used it as a means of reassuring them they weren’t going to bleed out before he got them safely to the helicopter. It didn’t matter how tough a man was. When he was lying there, barely conscious, blood sticky against his skin—holding Russel’s hand was a sign he could relax. That someone else would watch over him. Have his back.
And Russel made a point of never letting a teammate die alone if he could help it. Knowing he couldn’t do anything—working to save him just the same—those were the moments that had shaped the kind of man Russel had become. How he helped his brothers face death defined him more than all the lives he’d saved.
But he wasn’t going to lose Quinn. He had no idea how she felt about him. If he was just a man she’d been forced to trust. Or if she felt as if she were falling without ever hitting the ground—the way he felt sitting there, holding her hand, wishing he could pull over to the side of the road, wrap her in his arms and just sleep.
Not that it mattered. She’d accepted his help—somewhat reluctantly—and failure was not an option. Whether she ever wanted more, he’d protect her with his life. See that she got whatever help she needed to get this Thomas guy and his thugs off her tail. But, for that, he needed answers—answers that would have to wait until she’d gotten some decent sleep.
Which meant he needed to get them someplace safe.
He glanced at the map displayed on his phone. He’d called Rigs, but the man hadn’t picked up. Russel had left a detailed message—well, he’d told his buddy he needed a safe place for him and a friend to crash. One that wouldn’t be easy to infiltrate. If that didn’t clue Rigs in that Russel had possible tangos on his ass, then Russel had bigger problems.
Like what he’d do if Rigs didn’t call him back. Midnight was right—Rigs definitely wasn’t someone you just dropped in on. Especially since he’d left the service and was apparently dealing with some…residual issues. Russel wouldn’t put it past the guy to have his entire place wired, and Russel preferred his body parts right where they were.
He huffed out a breath, wondering if he should try Rigs, again, or just plan on staying in a motel, when his phone jingled, the sudden sound making him jump. Damn, he was definitely losing it if he startled over his phone.
“Foster.”
“You know, most people don’t call after midnight. On account it’s considered late.”
Russel smiled. “We both know I’m not most people, and the fact you’re calling me back at two…”
“Had a feeling you’d just keep ringing until I picked up. You’re as bad as Midnight. Bastard won’t stop calling. Keeps trying to get me to drive out to Montana. Says I should meet up with some ex-SEAL named Hank.”
“Midnight’s always been persistent. And Hank’s a great guy. You definitely need to chat with him.” Russel cleared his throat. “How ya been?”
Rigs snorted. “You’ve obviously talked to Midnight, so… He thinks I’m hiding.”
“Are you?”
The line went silent, followed by a rough breath. “I’m…dealing. Adjusting.”
“By living on the outskirts? Avoiding contact with anyone who might…what? React to how you look? Which is crazy, you know that, right? The scars really aren’t that bad. Not the way you’ve worked them up to be inside your head.”
“Right, says the guy who doesn’t have one. Anywhere.”
“Trust me. I’ve got lots on the inside. Besides, I didn’t haul your ass out of that rubble just so you could play ostrich.”
Silence. Not even the soft whisper of breath.
Russel sighed. “And that wasn’t why I’d called. Guess I just can’t tame that side of me.”
A bemused snort. “That stubborn side is why I’m still breathing. I know you weren’t supposed to come in. Zone wasn’t clear. Heard you got bitched out for breaking ranks.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the first time. Or the last.”
“Heard about that, too. I’m sorry, Ice. I’m sure that was a tough one to swallow. Guys like you… You’re the reason the rest of us could go in without worrying about getting hurt. We knew you PJs were just itching to come and drag us out. I have to say, you’re a crazy bunch.”
“Right, and setting explosives, defusing bombs is sane?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“I’m familiar with the term. Besides, you’re not the only one who doesn’t quite know how to adjust. Who knew it’d be so hard to integrate back? I always thought civilians had it easy. Now… Crap. Now, I just think they’re all nuts.”
“That’s what happens when you’re fresh out and already have a bunch of tangos on your ass. Want to fill me in on that?”
“I don’t know much more than the fact that Quinn’s in trouble. And the men chasing her have no issues about killing her or anyone who gets in their way.”
“Quinn?”
“She’s a…” Christ, Russel wasn’t really sure what she was, other than a source of frustration. The reason he felt so off-kilter. The girl was probably a witch. Had cast some kind of love spell that first night. He shook his head. “She’s a friend.”
“Sure. How’s she doing?”
“Passed out. Too much adrenaline, too little sleep mixed with some alcohol… I doubt she’ll wake up before morning.”
“How far out are you?”
“About thirty minutes.”
“I’ll make up the spare bed. Just be sure you stay on the gravel drive, or you won’t have to worry about those men chasing you, if you get my drift.”
“You do realize civilians don’t set charges around their property, right?”
“You just said they’re all crazy. I’m just taking precautions.”
“Right.” Russel scrubbed his hand down his face. “You do know we’re not done talking about how you really are hiding, right? Unlike Midnight, I don’t care if I piss you off. He’s far more…sensitive.”
“Perhaps you should wait until you’re actually here before you do that—bad guys on your ass, and all.”
“Noted. We’ll pretend we’re both fine, for now. See you soon.”
“Remember. Stay on the drive.”
“Got it. And thanks, Rigs.”
“Don’t thank me until you get to my door without blowing up.”
Russel smiled as the line cut off. It seems Rigs hadn’t changed that much. Sure, Russel was pretty sure Midnight’s assessment was right. That Rigs was hiding. Afraid to face the world scarred from battle. And, if he was having flashbacks, suffering from PTSD… That complicated things.
Russel sighed. He’d have to wait until he was there to make a proper evaluation. See if he could talk Rigs into taking some positive steps forward. Russel knew firsthand how hard it was to be thrust into change. To find a new purpose. He was lucky. Hank had reached out to him and given him a lifeline even before he’d needed it. And Midnight had made a point of calling him damn near every night to ensure Russel wasn’t going to disappear. Fall into some kind of depression.
Rigs… Once the Marine Corps had pieced him back together and stabilized his condition, he’d been shuttled off to Walter Reed then unceremoniously let loose. A decorated war hero left to fight his own demons in a world he’d abandoned a dozen years prior. To say it was daunting was an understatement. That coupled with injuries everyone could see—stamped across his face and chest—Russel understood why Rigs might choose to hide. Hell, Russel had considered it, himself. But he’d had friends that hadn’t taken no for an answer. Who’d looked beyond his other-than-honorable discharge and accepted him. About time Russel gave that back.
Quinn stirred, groaning, again, until he took her hand back in his—gave it a squeeze. Knowing that his presence comforted her did funny things to his heart. Made it race, then skip, then fuck, he was sure it stopped, turned over, then started, again. And his stomach—it couldn’t decide if there were a thousand butterflies living inside it or if it was just permanently stuck somewhere up by his throat. Either way, the feelings were new. Years of helping people, of facing gunfire and death without losing his cool, and her tiny hand resting in his made him break out in a cold sweat.
Man, he should have listened to his mother. She’d told him, repeatedly, that women had the power to unravel a man with nothing more than a smile. He’d never really put much stock in it. After all, she’d fled an abusive marriage. Had spent her life looking over her shoulder. Call him crazy, but that didn’t sound like the kind of unraveling he wanted.
But, sitting there, holding Quinn’s hand—Christ, he had a bad feeling this is what his mom had been talking about. Wanting to protect Quinn, he understood. It was bone deep. An integral part of his DNA. But wanting to hold her. Taste her mouth, her skin. Lose himself in those green eyes. That… It was foreign. Sure, he’d had a few short-term flings. A week, maybe a month. But, in his line of work, settling down hadn’t made sense. He’d witnessed too many soldiers leave behind families. Wives. Children. People who were forever scarred by the loss. And he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get attached.
Of course, it’s not as if he’d ever met someone who had wanted him to change his mind. The women he’d dated had seemed to want the same from him—fun. Sex. Maybe a safe place to fall for a while. But they’d never asked for more and had left before he’d had a chance to realize it was time to move on.
But he wasn’t a soldier, anymore. And, if he was honest, Midnight didn’t seem too upset about how civilian life was turning out. In fact, Russel had never seen the man happier. Having Bridgette definitely made the difference. But it wasn’t just Midnight. Hank. Swede. Taz. They all had found a way to make it work. Had partners who made it worth the fight.
Russel looked at their joined hands, again. The way hers fit perfectly in his. Maybe he had something to fight for. Someone. He might not know how she felt, but damn if he wasn’t falling for her. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d gotten in way over his head that first night. Sitting in the chair, watching her sleep—it had flicked some kind of switch. Made him long for more than just endless hookups. People breezing in and out of his life. The service had been his family. But he realized he had another one. Midnight and the guys at Brotherhood Protectors had made that clear. About time Russel found that special teammate. The one he hadn’t thought existed until…
He snorted. Just his luck. He finally admitted he wanted a relationship—to be part of a couple—and the girl that grabbed him by the balls was involved in something dangerous enough to have a bunch of thugs on her tail, armed with guns and god knew what else. And she seemed as reluctant as he was to get involved. He sure knew how to pick ‘em.
His GPS broke through his thoughts, rattling off the next set of directions. Russel focused on the road, on the steady downpour of rain—on anything other than the warm feel of Quinn’s hand in his. The soft snuffling noises she made, or the subtle scent of her perfume that had slowly saturated every inch of his truck. Floral with a hint of something cool, he couldn’t help but inhale it with every breath. And he knew it was permanently fused into his senses. That he could track it anywhere. Anytime.
He gave himself a mental shake, following the ghostly voice as it continued to call out turns and distances. Another fifteen minutes and he was staring at the entrance to a small cabin set against some hills. Wire fencing ran out to either side, a couple of posts opening up a narrow gravel road. A few lights brightened the porch in the distance, a man’s silhouette visible next to a railing.
Russel drove ahead, mindful not to venture even a hair off the gravel drive. Though, he suspected anything Rigs might have planted was mostly for show—a very mild charge to toss some dirt in the air and alert him to possible unwanted visitors—Russel wasn’t about to test his theory. Rigs had been the best explosives ordinance soldier Russel had ever had the pleasure to work with, and his skills demanded respect.
The truck rocked to a halt as Russel shoved it in park. If nothing else, they had a few hours to rest—get their heads on straight. And get some damn answers. After that, they’d discuss their next move.
Quinn groaned when he lifted her against his chest, holding her close as he headed for the steps leading into the cabin. Rigs stood off to the side, half eclipsed in shadows.
He smiled—a flash of white amidst the darkness. “Glad you made it here in one piece.”
Russel arched a brow. “I was hoping you were exaggerating on your defense strategy. But I’m not foolish enough to test you.”
Rigs merely grinned. “Inside and down the hall. Second door on the right.” He moved closer. “She okay?”
“Just exhausted. A good night’s sleep might mean we get some answers in the morning. At least, I hope.”
“I’ll keep watch. Just in case. You two relax. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks, buddy. I owe ya.”
Rigs waved it off, holding the door as Russel maneuvered them inside. He didn’t miss the way Rigs seemed to avoid showing off the left side of his face, but that was a discussion better left for tomorrow. After Russel had gotten some sleep. And, with Rigs standing watch—nothing was getting past the man. Which meant Russel could actually let his guard down. For a few hours.
He headed for the room, placing Quinn on the bed before toeing off his boots then stripping down to a shirt and briefs. He removed Quinn’s outer layer, leaving her in a shirt and panties, not wanting her to feel as if he’d violated too much of her privacy, then tucked her under the sheets, crawling in behind her.
He shuffled over, sliding one arm under her head and drawing her against his chest, letting the other wrap around her waist. She stirred, burrowed closer, then settled. Russel inhaled, drinking in her familiar fragrance coupled with a hint of coconut in her hair. God, she smelled incredible. He closed his eyes, his tension easing for the first time since he’d spotted her in the bar three weeks ago. Though, he knew it was only temporary. Tomorrow, she’d have to level with him about what she’d gotten herself into. Why those men were after her, and what it had to do with her family. Because he wasn’t about to lose the first good thing to happen to him in a long time.