“I suppose he expected to always do it for you.” I extend my arm and rest my hand on the back of her chair—a test maybe, though I’m not entirely sure who it’s for—and when a lock of her hair touches my fingers, I play with the silky softness, gentle enough not to alert her to my actions. “Wait. He taught you how to throw a punch? Let’s circle back to that.”
She snorts and drives away from Main Street, choosing the highway that passes right through town instead. “He said it was important I know how to break a man’s jaw.Just in case.” She shrugs, pulling her hair free of my fingers when I open them. “He always had this darker bent, I suppose. The military showed him that life isn’t always roses and big smiles. A lesson you learned, too, I imagine. So when he was home, he made it his mission to teach me these things. Like, how to shoot, and the best way to use a knife. I had to know where to aim to hurt, and where to aim to kill.” She glances across, catching my curious expression. “He taught me how to use tools around the house, and to have extra toolboxes, because a screwdriver has more than one purpose.”
Jesus fucking Christ. He was making her GI Jane, just in case.
And she doesn’t even realize it.
“A hammer to the face can tear a man’s jaw off,” she adds in a monotone, like she’s heard those words a million times. “He kept saying things like that. But honestly, if someone was in my home, I’m not sure grabbing a hammer would be my first thought.”
“No?” I look out at the open road and enjoy the cool breeze whipping through our open windows. “What would you do if you had an intruder?”
“Run away, probably. I’m a million times safer sprinting into the trees and finding somewhere to hide than I am staying behind and threatening a criminal with a hammer. I might mess up his face, but chances are, he’s gonna mess me up, too.”
“That’s actually the right answer.” I roll my bottom lip and meet her eyes. “For guys like me and Nichols, we stand andfight. We’re trained for it, and we’re big enough to defend our homes. But for people like you, and people like my sister?—”
“You have a sister, too?”
“Yeah… Uh.” My stomach hollows out and leaves me damn near reeling. But I swallow the ache and school my expression before I give myself away. Before I admit,out loud, that I never intended to mention her. “Scarlett,” I rasp. “If she had a home intruder, and trees surrounded her home like yours, then her job would be to run and hide. Let them have what they want. They’ll leave when they’re done, and you and Scar get to live. You should already have your special treasures tucked away somewhere safe, so a burglar can toss your home and take the electronics and shit. Unless they have days to search, they won’t find your special things.” I take her hair between my fingertips again and rub the soft strands against my skin. “Did you do that already?”
“Did I…” She frowns, confused. “Do I have a treasure box tucked away?”
I drop my chin.
“Definitely. We have a few, actually. Another lesson inRyan-Research.” Grinning, she drags her lip between her teeth and goes back to watching the road. “He was adamant that we split our resources, so if one cache is discovered, you still have three or four others to work with.”
Yeah. Kind of like five keys spread among five soldiers.
“Yours aren’t above the fridge, are they? Or under the bed?”Tell me your secrets, Nova. I’ll slide in tomorrow while you’re at work, and leave again before you get home. “Those would be the first places a criminal would look.”
Amused, she finds the buttons on her steering wheel andturns the radio a little louder. “Of course not. Ryan-Research is more thorough than that.”
Tell me!
“I like to think my hiding places are intuitive to anyone truly thinking about it. Like, there’s one box hidden in the shed out back. It has a spare set of keys for the truck in it, as well as cash and credit cards, and things like that. Which makes sense, right? If I have an intruder and need to leave, the smart thing to do would be to run toward my vehicle. Ducking back inside the house for keys is how we die. And that…” A forlorn expression rolls across her face. “Reminds me, I need to swap the Chevy keys as soon as I sign the papers for this truck.”
“Smart.” One box in the shed.Noted.“What about inside? I know you have one in your bedroom. That’s where you need access to a weapon if someone comes in at night.”
She smirks, driving right past my rental outside town without mentioning it. “If you were anyone else, Ryan would destroy me for telling you the boxes even exist. He was strict about this stuff. Like, if your life is on the line and youneedthese resources, gossiping about them is the first step to getting dead.” She slows the truck and indicates to turn, surprising the shit out of me when she pulls into her own driveway.
Taking me home already? So easily?
But she’s smarter than that. She merely uses her driveway to turn around again, and then, pulling back onto the road, she brings us up to fifty miles an hour quickly. “I have a box hidden in my room. It’s part treasure, part protection. It’s close enough that I can get to it in an emergency, but it has special things in it, too, like pictures and letters I want to keep nearby. If Imustleave the house with nothing, I consider the boxes hidden well enough that they’ll probably go undiscovered.”
Another in her room. Weapons and family pictures.Noted.
“Anyway.” She nods toward my house as we pass. “How are the rats doing?”
I choke out a barking laugh and allow talk of her hidden treasures to fade away. “I called one Rebecca, because she’s kinda hairy and chunky. And her boyfriend, I call him Douglas.”
“Uh…” She peeks my way with dancing eyes. “I give up. Why’s his name Douglas?”
“Because it’s a nice name. Why does it have to be more than that?”
“Oh, shut up!” She smacks my leg a second time. “I thought you were gonna give me a spiel about digging. Or the lack of digging. Orsomething! And now nothing. I haven’t beenthisdisappointed by anticipation since the last time I brought a man home.”
I give her hair a gentle tug and destroy the waves of humor washing through the cab of a truck worth fifteen or sixteen grand. Or twenty, maybe. Fuck knows. Instead, her giggles come to a gargling stop, and her eyes swing to mine, wide and wary.
“When was the last time you brought a man home? And why was he disappointing?”
