Liz tilted her head and raised her brows in an expression that said,whatever, and shrugged out of the backpack, now carrying it with both straps slung over one shoulder. “My car or yours?”
“Mine.”
She grabbed her walking stick, a fifty-five-inch-tall, hand-carved stick she’d used for years.
“No weapons?” he asked.
Liz touched her necklace. It was forty-two inches of large polished nuggets, several carved rock beads, three silver amulets, and her grandmother’s wedding ring. The metals had been charged by a metal witch. Each stone and amulet contained a different working. The necklace was heavy, but it was her best defense, especially when used in conjunction with the big-mama power sink, fist-sized hunk of granite she’d added to her travel bag essentials. She could use it to draw raw power straight from any partially buried boulder she could find. She slid the nuggets between her fingers and made sure the clasp was tightly closed. When she released that catch, it allowed all the stones to slide free, to be put together in a different configuration, or for independent magical purposes.
Eli snorted delicately. It wasn’t quite derision, but he clearly wasn’t impressed.
“Uh huh,” Liz said, amused at the goading. “We’ll see.”
Eli
Lizzie was cute,touching her necklace, challenging him. He had never cared a thing for red-heads, until Sylvia, and he’d thought Syl was a one-off. He didn’t really want another one in his life. And if she hadn’t nearly died in the hospital recently, he’d still be interested. Still was interested. But he knew his lifestyle. He couldn’t put anyone else in jeopardy again. It was bad enough that Alex was always in danger, but he was teaching his younger brother how to shoot, how to take a fall and come back fighting. The kid was putting on muscle and he had the hand-eye coordination of a natural shooter. Jane was fighting all comers, dancing, and in the best shape in ages. The kids were coming along.
Liz was … Liz had nearly died. She might never be able to take care of herself, certainly not in a fight. He’d seen too many abused women in the war. He couldn’t stand to see such a thing again, especially not to Lizzie. Never to Lizzie.
Yet, here she was, planning to go off into the mountains alone. He couldn’t let her do something stupid like that. Maybe she could handle a hike and a lost dog fine. And maybe she she’d fall off a cliff or get bitten by a rogue werewolf—not that there had been reports, but still, it could happen—or turned by a rogue vamp, and he’d hate himself for not going along to keep her safe. Images of her in danger flitted through his mind.Son of a bitch.
He stowed their gear in the back hatch of the SUV, locking the weapons in the gun safe that was bolted into the floor and stowing their equipment in the new, mesh partitions. He opened his door, got in, strapped in, and saw from the corner of his eye that Liz did the same.
The vehicle had been in the sun all day and it was stuffy hot. He pressed the start button, adjusted the necessary temps and mirrors, and lowered the windows so the AC could blow the hot air out. He liked the way Lizzie smelled. Like vanilla and stone.
He backed out, reminding himself that the next step in security measures involved building a garage for the armored vehicles Jane traveled in. His POV—personally owned vehicle—didn’t fall into that category. He wanted it out where it was ready to go at any moment.
Vanilla and stone.
He raised the windows and shut that thought off.
“We need to stop at Mission Hospital on Biltmore Avenue to pick up the locator fob,” she said. “Golda is meeting me in the lobby.”
“Roger that.” He tapped a button the steering wheel and gave a voice command. “Call Chewy’s cell.”
“S’up, Hoss?” Chewy answered.
“One passenger and I need a ride from the Mingo Falls campground to a vehicle accident site between Morton Overlook and the tunnel. Then provide vehicle cover while we hunt for a lost dog. If dog isn’t found onsite, we’ll need pickup at a GPS to be determined later.”
“ETA to Mingo?”
“Sixty mikes.”
“Roger, out.” The call ended.
Liz asked, “Just like that?”
He raised his brows and looked the question at her.
“You called a guy and he shows up? No questions? No story? No convincing? And why the campground at Mingo? And what’s a mike?”
“Yes to the first question. No to the next three, and a mike is minute.” He glanced at her. “Military jargon. If Chewy hadn’t been available, I had a Plan B.” Plans B through G, not that he needed to say that. Always having a plan had kept him alive too many times to ditch that way of life now. “If we leave a car on the side of the road overnight, it’ll be stripped or impounded by morning. So we have a ride from Mingo to the accident site and a pickup near any GPS I name. Chewy knows the trails like the back of his hand and has any wheeled equipment we need for an exfil.” He’d also arranged to have the helo on standby if they needed emergency evac and had left orders with Alex on which wildlife and game and rescue groups to notify should there be complications. Plans A through G with options and alternatives.
“Oh. Right.” She tugged on her ponytail, scowling.
He could tell she hadn’t thought that part through. He resisted a smile.Cute.
Vanilla and stone.
