“Listen, we don’t have time for you to collect your things. We need to move.” He reached for her hand, and she ignored him.
Using the car for support, she shuffled her way to the rear. The force of the impact had popped the trunk, and she pulled out her duffel before Rambo could stop her. “Halle-fucking-lujah,” she muttered, reaching into the car for the sacred object revealed.
She turned with a nearly full bottle of vodka to find herself face-to-face with a whole lot of agitated military muscle. Eyeing the duffel and her go-juice, Rambo voiced his annoyance in the form of a cocked eyebrow.
“What?” Gray waved the Goose by the neck. “It has my fingerprints on it.”
Unimpressed, he shook his head, and snatching the duffel from her grasp, he jerked his chin to indicate the steep embankment. “Let’s roll.”
She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when a muffled groan emerged from the wrecked car. The soldier moved fast, dropping her bag, drawing his weapon, and taking aim. “Stop!” She threw herself between gun and target. The barrel pointed square at her chest.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed today?” With his free hand, he attempted to sweep her behind him. While he probably had sixty pounds of muscle on her, she was only four or five inches shorter and not the most moveable of objects.
“You can’t shoot him.”
The struggle for position came to an abrupt halt when he circled her waist with an arm, picked her up, swung her around, and deposited her where he wanted her. A solid wall of pissed-off testosterone now stood between her and the car.
“You can’t shoot him,” she repeated, hating the desperate note in her voice.
“I’m not planning on shooting him unless he draws his weapon. Why does it matter considering you tried to off him by way of a head-on collision with a pine tree?”
“I didn’t try tooffhim. I was trying to get away. In fact, I kinda owe him one.”
“You owe him one?”
Exhaustion and some rather painful throbbings ramped her exasperation. “Yes, I owe him. That’s what I said. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”
He looked over his shoulder, and she followed his lead, leaning around him to get a better view. Despite the moan, Rusty Eyes hadn’t moved. When she looked back at the soldier, he holstered his gun, and she sighed with relief.
His eyes narrowed, and like a one-trick pony, he jerked his head again, indicating the steep climb to the road. Gray picked up her duffel and shouldered the load.So much for Mr. Nice Guy.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Holy shit.The hella sexy climber was a hot mess.Bloody, dirty, and definitely in pain, the woman had looked at Chase like she wanted to cut his balls off with a butter knife when he pulled her from the car.
Same when he reclaimed her duffel at the start of their climb, and now that they were halfway to the top, they weren’t any closer to being friends. She slipped on a loose patch of rock, and he offered his hand. Again.
This time she took it, but her frown indicated she was less than thrilled about the skin-on-skin contact. With some effort, they reached the road, and she tried to let go. Chase thwarted her attempt by tightening his grip. He liked the feel of her palm in his. It was a problem. One he didn’t have time to dwell on.
He led her to the truck, reluctantly releasing his hold to open the passenger door. With an easy swing, he tossed her bag over the console and into the back seat. Then stepping aside, he gave her plenty of room to get in on her own.
Bottle of vodka in hand, she hesitated, and he had to stifle a smile.
God, she was stubborn.
He checked his watch and waited while she mentally weighed her options. By her dark expression, she didn’t care for the sensible conclusion she reached moments later. She knew as well as he did, he was her best chance.
The—for now—flashed across her face, a neon sign signaling her intention loud and clear. Even without the nonverbal heads-up, her next move was easy enough to predict under the circumstances. This woman was a runner.
At some point, she’d try to ditch him. He was sure of it. If he took his eyes off her for a second, she’d be gone in a heartbeat and dead in two. He couldn’t let that happen.
Protect and defend. A core value instilled at a young age, he had no choice but to see the photographer safe. He also had his mission to think of. She had inside information, and he needed to know how she came to be on that cliff, who had sent her, and why.
Plus, she did have a spectacular ass.
In a hurry to leave before Kincaid came to, Chase was about to scoop his mystery woman into his arms and put her in the truck when she beat him to it. With an exaggerated sigh, she gave him a threatening look, hopped up onto the passenger seat, and slammed the door with excessive force.
By the time he started the engine, she had her phone in the air, trying to get a signal. He took it away. “There’s no reception up here.”
