The Protector Page 12

  Eryn didn’t move an inch as he passed her again en route to the door. “Now,” he urged.

  “I don’t think so.” Her chin was angled upward, her hands planted on her hips. “You need to explain what I just saw.”

  It was obvious to Ike she wasn’t going to move an inch unless she got some answers. His temples throbbed. He peered through the cracked front door, half expecting to see the FBI barreling through Naked Creek. “Dwayne took my course last fall,” he admitted shortly. “I teach survival and security.”

  Her brow furrowed as she processed his statement. “So, that’s what the trails are for,” she guessed aloud. “And the shooting range.”

  “Right.”

  “Dwayne took your course, and that’s why he agreed to house your machines here.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then why’d you chase him off his land?”

  “I didn’t. He forgot something.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Ike had had enough of the fifth degree. “You gonna come on your own, or do I need to carry you?” he threatened.

  Eryn’s back stiffened. After a measuring look, she apparently decided she wouldn’t put it past him to throw her over his shoulder. She marched mutinously out of the door, sending him a look that should have left him in cinders. Amused despite the urgent situation, Ike trundled her into his SUV, tossed the laundry bag onto the back seat, and took off.

  With haste that bounced them in their seats, he sped them away from Dwayne’s trailer, spraying water twenty feet into the air as he sluiced through Naked Creek and out the other side.

  No Feds or the local cops in sight.

  As he rushed them toward his mountain, leaving a trail of dust hanging in the air behind them, he was sharply aware of Eryn’s silence. She sat stiffly in the opposite seat clutching the safety handle, her mouth drawn into a firm pink line.

  Her irritation with him unsettled him. Just like everything else about her, it went straight under his skin to affect his nervous system. And, damn it, before she’d come into his life, he hadn’t been aware that he’d even had a nervous system.

  “Why don’t you tell me anything?” she demanded as he flew toward his property.

  “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that you teach survival training? Like why you chased that poor man off his property.”

  “Trust me, you don’t need to pity him.” His temper flared again at the thought of Dwayne’s betrayal.

  “Okay, then, give me one good reason for your hostility.”

  “I can give you several.”

  “Go ahead.”

  But he couldn’t because he’d assured her just the other day that the FBI hadn’t followed them, and he didn’t want her losing faith in him. Worse than that, if the FBI was in town, then the fucking terrorists probably weren’t all that far behind. She sure as hell didn’t need to know that.

  Swinging between the pillars, he silenced his watch, shifted fluidly into four-wheel drive, then took off again, using the need for concentration to avoid her expectant gaze. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, he assured himself.

  **

  “Damn it, we missed him!” Caine looked from his laptop to the long stretch of country road blocked at the far end by a lumpy mountain. “It’s too late. They’re back on his property.”

  Ringo, who was driving the Taurus, let up abruptly on the gas, and the seatbelt strapping Jackson into the rear seat jerked tight at the abrupt change in speed. He had to take it off in order to put it back on.

  It was just another sign of how totally ineffective their approach was. He couldn’t even say if they were on the side of the law anymore.

  As a Marine, Jackson had been one of the good guys. Sure, he’d done some dirty deeds in the line of duty, but he’d never shot at women, children, or upright men. And, as far as he was concerned, Isaac Calhoun was an upright man. Any special ops warrior was a hero in his eyes, whether the men under his command got killed or not.

  “Turn around.” Caine gave an angry gesture, and Ringo swung into a tractor road to pull a U-turn, pointing them back toward town.

  “Don’t worry,” Caine added after a minute of tense silence. “We’ll get her back tomorrow night.”

  Jackson’s pulse accelerated. “Sir, I’d just as soon not run into a SEAL in the dead of night,” he announced. Their plan to lure Calhoun away from the cabin wasn’t going to work the way Caine figured it would.

  “I don’t want to hear excuses, Maddox. He’s not a SEAL anymore.”

  “How am I supposed to convince Eryn to come with me?” Jackson asked.

  “You don’t give her any a choice, Rookie. Or does it turn your stomach to manhandle a woman?”

  Jackson met Ringo’s quick glance into the mirror. Did Caine really just say that?

  “Besides, she won’t give you any trouble,” Caine predicted, “not if she’s still taking her pills.”

  Jackson had to let the statement run through his head twice. “Are you telling me we drugged her, sir?” His voice came out an octave too high.

  Caine made a sound of disgust. “Of course not. She was overwrought by her students’ death. She had gone without sleep for days, remember that?”

  Turning in his seat, Caine whipped off his amber-lensed Oakley sunglasses and pinned him with a hard stare. “You’re not a Marine with an M-16 and a Beretta, anymore, Maddox. You’re a special agent. Start looking at the bigger picture.”

  It was Caine who couldn’t see the bigger picture, Jackson realized. His perceptions were too clouded by ambition. Protecting Eryn wasn’t his priority. He wanted to make a name for himself, in whatever way he could—either by catching the terrorists or by creating a situation in which Calhoun looked like a terrorist.

  It really made no difference to Caine who the bad guys were.

  Chapter Nine

  As their altitude climbed, so did the tension in the cab of Ike’s Durango. The only sound cutting through the thickly charged silence was that of gravel hitting the undercarriage.

  Ike made the last sharp turn with relief, barreling into his front yard to brake beside the log pile. He cut the engine and was diving out the door when Eryn grabbed him and refused to let go, her nails digging into his biceps.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Her tone would have made a room full of adolescents sit up and take notice. “I don’t know who taught you to keep everything bottled inside of you, Isaac Calhoun. Maybe that’s how you were raised, but it’s bad for your health, and it’s driving me effing crazy!”

  Effing? He found himself smiling. How cute was it that she couldn’t bring herself to curse even when she was furious?

  “Now tell me what Dwayne said that’s making you act so strange, or I’ll...” A riotous pink suffused her face and her chest heaved.

  “You’ll what?” He was tempted to push her over the edge just to see what she would do.

  “I will hurt you!” she vowed, balling a hand into a fist.

  He just had to laugh. Even in the sticky situation he was in, the chuckle felt good, rolling up from his gut with a rush of warmth.

  She glared at his mouth in astonishment. “Are you mocking me?”

  “’Course not.”

  “Then stop smirking, and tell me what the heck is going on!”

  He wasn’t about to tell her the truth and send her back into the panicky state she’d arrived in. What he could do, however, was to derail this little tirade with a kiss. One, it was the only way he knew to shut her up. Two, he’d been dying to taste her sweet mouth for days now.

  Flashing out a hand, he palmed the side of her head, lowered his head, and crushed his lips to hers.

  There, nothing to be heard but silence.

  She froze against him, her eyes flashing with outrage, and she wasn’t kissing him back.

  Ike’s pride wavered. He had to get a response, to prove he was firmly in control of the situation. She could just let go, trusting him to look out for her.

/>   Ignoring the voice in his head that cautioned him against it, Ike shifted gears. Coercion wasn’t the way. He needed to coax her the way he tamed wild animals, with patience and tenderness. With that new objective, he gentled the contact and nibbled on her unresponsive lips until they warmed and softened like handled butter.

  That’s it, honey. Trust me. I got it all under control.

  The sound of her breath hitching was music to his ears. Her eyes sank shut, and the same lips that had resisted him seconds earlier parted willingly when he laid his thumb lightly against her chin. Anticipation whipped through him as he stroked his tongue into her mouth, meeting hers in a warm, delicious glide. Oh, yeah.

  Suddenly she was as welcoming as the petals of a flower spreading in the sun. She kissed him back with enthusiasm that made his heart trot. Her kiss was as sweet and sultry as a wet dream. It gained force inside him like an afternoon thunderstorm.

  On some unconscious level, Ike realized his awareness had shrunk to the proportions of the vehicle. All he was aware of was Eryn’s taste, her smell, her texture. Nothing else existed. Alarm bells sounded in his head. He broke contact with a groan, hauled himself back into his seat, and forced his senses back into the world around him.

  The FBI could have had the place surrounded, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

  “You’re dangerous,” he stated, aware that their kiss had rendered her speechless.

  As for himself, he’d just learned a sobering lesson. Where Eryn was concerned, he wasn’t in control. She could not trust him to keep her safe. Stanley had made a huge mistake in choosing him to be her protector. He had to get the hell away from her and stay there.

  Groping for the latch, he stumbled out of the truck before he got another genius idea.

  “Whoa, daddy,” Eryn breathed, falling weakly against her seat. Who’d have guessed that Ike Calhoun could kiss like that?

  Actually, the kiss had started out exactly as she’d expected. It had been nothing more than a strategy to shut her up. But then he had gentled it into something compelling, unexpected, with sensuality that had sparked an immediate response in her.

  Too stunned to move, she watched him carry their laundry into the cabin. The tense look on his face, paired with that comment about her being dangerous told her he wasn’t going to kiss her again, not if he could help it.

  Drat.

  She may not have gotten answers to her questions, but she’d learned more about Ike from that one kiss than from anything he’d ever told her!

  Pleasure shimmered in her as she relived his unexpected tenderness, his restrained passion. It was as if the kiss had created a window in the wall he kept between them. Through it, she had glimpsed the real Ike. He wasn’t just the terse, resentful soldier who had brought her so begrudgingly to his cabin. He was a complex human being, vulnerable, lonely, wracked by guilt.

  My God, there was so much more to him than she’d realized!

  And if she was eager to get to know him before, now she was consumed with curiosity. Who was Ike Calhoun, really? What did he want out of life? Could she help him overcome the tragedy that had sent him into self-punishing isolation?

  Ike couldn’t get that kiss out of his head. It was supposed to have been a simple thing, an indulgence he’d allowed himself because—hey, he was human. Only, he’d seriously miscalculated his own weakness. The moment Eryn started kissing him back, his self-control had vanished. All he could think about was getting more.

  Which is never going to happen, he sternly warned himself.

  Plus, his timing sucked. The FBI was circling like the Union Army closing in on the Confederates. He needed to focus. He figured he had twenty-four hours, tops, to work up a plan so that Eryn didn’t fall back into their clutches. He shouldn’t even be thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t reined himself in.

  Retreating into his room, he shut the door and put away his clean clothes. He waited till he heard Eryn slip into the bathroom before he placed her clothing on the stairs. Then he eased outside with the dog right behind him, desperate to avoid running into her while his body was still primed like an engine pumped full of high octane fuel.

  With Winston on his heels, he hiked up the trail toward the boulder where he did his clearest thinking. How had the FBI done it? They had to have access to technology or information he was unaware of.

  He wished to hell he could call up Stanley for advice, only Cougar had warned him that any direct communication would be intercepted.

  Arriving at the top of the rise, Ike clambered onto the sun-warmed boulder and threw himself down on it. A stiff breeze ruffled the soft material of his T-shirt. Storm clouds lined the horizon, tracking a path in his direction.

  The wind carried the memory of the kiss back to him. He pushed it away, resolutely.

  He figured he had two choices. One, he could hole up on his mountain and defend it by force. With rabbit and fowl in abundance this time of year, survival was not an issue. But if the FBI launched a forcible attack, he’d have to fight to protect Eryn, who might wind up getting hurt. Option one didn’t look so good.

  Option two was to leave the area undetected and head off somewhere equally remote. But until he knew how the Feds had found them in the first place, leaving wouldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t be followed again.

  So, until he thought of something better, they had to stay put. Damn it. The memory of Eryn’s responsiveness made his gut clench. He should have known her kiss would taste like something he could never get enough of.

  How the hell was he going to live in the same space as her and not want more?

  Eryn stood on the front porch, listening to the birds twitter. Ike and the dog were gone. Her heart pattered. Surely he hadn’t abandoned her.

  No, he wouldn’t do that. Besides, the Durango was still parked under the tree. He had to be walking the dog, giving himself time to ponder whatever it was that Dwayne had told him. Hopefully he would realize he could tell her what it was. It wouldn’t kill him to share his concerns. Nor would they send her into a mindless panic, not so long as she still had his protection.

  To distract herself, she decided she would concoct another of her specialty recipes. Sharing another hearty meal at the table might induce Ike to talk. If that didn’t work, another kiss might do the trick. Only, she would have to make the first move. Given his remark about her being dangerous, she was sure he would keep himself firmly in check.

  His kiss was like a drug she desperately needed more of, a crystal ball that offered insight into who he really was. If he refused to kiss her again out of, what—fear?—then she would have to make the first move. Sexual excitement kept her blood at a low simmer.

  With her arms elbow-deep in pastry dough, she finally heard Ike’s voice out front, speaking to Winston. Sighing her relief, Eryn rolled out the dough by hand. She cut it into strips and laid it atop the contents of the shepherd’s pie. Then she slipped the dish into the pre-warmed oven, scrubbed her hands clean, and ventured outside to watch.

  An unpredictable breeze played havoc with her hair as she pushed the door open. Dark clouds surged across the valley toward them, bearing the scent of rain. Hovering on the top porch step, Eryn watched Winston heed Ike’s every command with no more reward than a pat on the head. “Wow,” she murmured, impressed by Ike’s accomplishment.

  But then he offered Winston a stick from the log pile, and she frowned. What’s this?

  “Sic,” he said, urging the dog to bite it. “Good boy,” he added when the dog growled.

  Eryn’s puzzlement deepened. It wasn’t till Ike tossed aside the stick and started wrapping a towel around his forearm that she realized his intent. Oh, no.

  “Sic,” he said again, offering the dog his arm.

  “He’s not going to bite you,” she called out, betraying her presence.

  Ike visibly stiffened, but he kept his back to her, not acknowledging her comment.

  Who did he think he was, teaching her docile Shepherd
mix to bite?

  “Winston, sic,” he repeated, thrusting his arm in the dog’s face.

  Winston barked. His blond coat shimmered in the uncertain light as he backed away.

  “Stop it!” Eryn demanded.

  “Sic.”

  The dog barked again. He turned in a circle, chasing his tail, but he wouldn’t attack Ike’s arm.

  “You’re upsetting him,” she cried, leaping off the porch to intervene.