Chapter Twenty-Four
When Sam woke, she was in her room and the sun was coming through the curtains like it was high noon. She sat up and waited for the room to spin, but it didn’t. Everything was where it was supposed to be.
Except for her pants.
She was wearing her black T-shirt and a pair of neon green panties. Where were her pants? Oh, no. She remembered laughing and—
Christ. She’d told him he was hot. Why would she do such a thing? She hadn’t been in her right mind.
She jumped out of bed and found her jeans in a pile on the floor. After yanking them on, she went out to confront Garrett.
“What did you do?” she yelled as she went into the living room. He was cleaning another gun.
“I asked you if you wanted something for the pain and you said yes.”
“I didn’t ask to be knocked unconscious.”
“You needed sleep. I knew you’ve been having trouble turning off, so I…shut you down so you could get some rest.”
“Did you have a nice time?” she snapped.
“Well, you were kind of giggly. I don’t know.” He smiled.
“I meant taking off my pants.” She pointed at him hotly.
“Oh, whoa. Hold on. I did not touch your pants,” he protested.
“Then why wasn’t I wearing them?”
“You said something about being a girl, and then you took them off and threw them at me. I didn’t touch them. I swear.”
She kind of remembered that now and decided to believe him, and after a few seconds she calmed down.
“You shouldn’t have drugged me,” she grumbled.
“It was mild. It shouldn’t have knocked you out like that. It’s not my fault you’re a wimp.” He was smiling with all the dimples. “How’d you sleep?” He tilted his head to the side, looking adorable and innocent.
“Like I was drugged. How do you think?” She let out a breath.
He cleared his throat. “Let me see your back.”
This time, she pulled the back of her shirt up just enough that he could inspect the wound. She wasn’t taking it off again.
He nodded, then checked her hand. “How’s the sore shoulder?” he asked.
She moved it around. It was stiff, but okay. “Good.”
“Then have some breakfast and go get the rifle and another box of ammo.” He pointed toward the door.
Well, what did she expect? Sympathy?
Finding the shack in the light of day was much easier after having stumbled into every tree in the forest the night before. She’d made it in less than fifteen minutes.
Anticipating she would have to come back again later that night, she’d made little signs of her own. It was obvious Garrett had scratched the arrow into the bark and cut down the tree as markers. Natural markers. So, she did the same. She’d used rocks and branches and even a clump of moss to mark her way.
After she retrieved the gun, it only took her twenty minutes to get back to the cabin from the bunker.
Rather than go into the house, she went straight to the shooting range, knowing Garrett was going to send her down there, anyway.
After getting five shots in the center, she took it up to the house. Her shoulder was protesting, so she didn’t try for the extra credit shots. He hadn’t appreciated her efforts yesterday, so why bother today?
When she walked into the house with the target in her hand, she froze. On the counter was a towel, a pair of scissors, and the hair dye. She looked at Garrett. Traitor.
“We discussed this,” he reminded her. “We have to be ready for anything.”
She swallowed, but didn’t argue.
He took the gun and the target, and patted the stool he’d placed in the middle of the kitchen. As she got situated, he hung her target on the refrigerator and put the gun on the table next to some cleaning supplies. He picked up a towel and draped it over her shoulders. “Please don’t cry,” he murmured.
She wasn’t about to promise anything. It would depend on how badly he hacked up her hair.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Yeah. I’m not bad. I took a couple of classes.”
She laughed nervously. Right. She totally believed that.
He combed through her hair. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“What’s the deal with women and their hair?”
She had no idea what he was really asking, but decided to go with the truth. “I don’t know about other women, but for me, my hair is the only thing I have that is remotely sexy. You’ll see when you cut it off. I’ll look like a twelve-year-old.”
She ground her teeth to keep from crying. She was being hunted by people with guns and she was tearing up over her stupid hair?
But she couldn’t help it. A whimper escaped at the first snip of the scissors.
“You’re killing me, Sam. Please?”
“Sorry.” She squeezed her eyes tighter, just wanting it to be over. The cutting didn’t take too long. She didn’t spare more than a glance at the long, blonde tendrils on the floor.
It was just hair. What was the big deal?
As he pulled on plastic gloves and mixed up the color, she fought the urge to run out the door. He sneezed a few times as he worked the color through what was left of her hair, but kept going with the stinky concoction. When he was finished, he pulled off the gloves and set the timer on the microwave.
“Do you want to help clean the rifle while your hair processes?” he asked conversationally.
She didn’t laugh at the fact that the big, tough federal agent knew her hair was processing. Instead, she nodded.
He went over all the names for the components and showed her how to clean the barrel. She’d started to feel comfortable with the gun in the last two days, but after seeing it in pieces, she felt like she knew it on a molecular level.
When they finished with the rifle, they tore down the Glock and did the same thing. They were putting it back together when the timer went off, causing her to jump.
“You’re acting like you have an appointment with the firing squad.” He rolled his eyes and led her to the kitchen sink.
She leaned over and he began rinsing her hair.
His hands were strong, and it felt nice to have him washing her hair. It also felt nice to have him pressed up against her as he moved. She closed her eyes and, despite everything, smiled, enjoying the sensation of his big hands in her hair. Twice, she thought she felt something move by her hip. Something firm.
When he shut off the faucet, she jumped again. She’d gone somewhere else for a moment…somewhere she shouldn’t have been going. Not with Garrett.
He handed her another towel. “All done.”
She wrapped it around her head and twisted it up on top. After a brief hesitation, she said, “I’m going to go look.”
“I’ll stay out here. In case you need a moment.”
She walked back to her bathroom, bracing herself for the worst. As she unwound the towel, short copper strands fell against her head in layers. She shook it out and fixed it with her fingers.
It wasn’t too bad. It was actually kind of cool. Nothing she would have had the nerve to do herself. The color made her eyes look even greener.
She went back out to the living room for his appraisal.
When he looked up, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He muttered a soft, “Oh, hell.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” she said with a frown.
“Not.” He swallowed. “Bad.” He blinked. “It’s…kinda hot.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that?”
She couldn’t remember Lance ever telling her she looked hot. Not even when she was trying to look hot.
“I don’t just say stuff, Sam. You know that.”
She nodded. It was true. He wasn’t one for idle chitchat or meaningless compliments.
“It’s…sexy.” He shrugged it off, but it was the best compliment she’d ever received.
She tried to moderate the stupid smile on her face. “You did a nice job,” she told him, honestly.
“Is it dry yet?”
“Almost.”
“Good. Go to the bunker and get me two boxes of nine millimeter ammo.”
She glanced out through the window and glared at him. Of course he would make her do it now. It was dark, and she’d already confessed that she was frightened of the dark. No doubt he was playing amateur psychologist, trying to get her to face her fears.
Well, she didn’t want to face them. She wanted to hide inside where monsters couldn’t get her.
If such a place even existed.