Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 (11 page)

Drawn curtains on such a sunny morning was a strange way to greet the day, Gray felt as he pulled up outside Zack’s house. Sutherland was almost entirely deserted; those who weren’t asleep were at church or tending their garden. He knocked on the door, making sure his badge and gun were hidden away, at least until he know more about what Zack needed from him.

“Hey, buddy, thanks for coming over so quick.” Gray hugged his former SEAL comrade with the back-slaps of men too long kept apart by busy schedules. “We got something here I know you’ll be able to help with.”

Gray took a seat on the couch and gratefully received a glass of cold water before being introduced to Eva. “Miss Evaline Montgomery, I want you to meet Grayson Alexander, formerly Chief Petty Officer and member of a certain world-class SEAL team. We’ve done things together that his momma should never know about.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Alexander,” Eva said shyly, angling her face so that he might not see her bruises.

“And you, Miss. Montgomery. I’ll do you a deal,” he said. “You call me Gray, and I’ll call you Eva, and how’s about you show me what happened to your face there?”

Gray began taking notes, an act as habituated as any in his life. He was an excellent listener, and transcribed the conversation in a quick short-hand, better and faster than most professional stenographers. Zack made sure Eva left nothing out.

“And where do you think he is now?” Gray asked. “Could he be staying somewhere local?”

“I’m not sure,” she confessed. “He had his car, so I guess he drove all the way down from Chicago. But I don’t want you to arrest him, not for this or anything.”

Gray closed his notebook. “It’s entirely your choice whether to press assault charges, Eva. That would be a matter for the local police anyway.”

Zack interjected. “I think Eva just wants to keep this small, to draw as little attention as possible. You know?”

“I get it,” Gray replied, nodding. “Stirring things up might bring bad people to your little town, here.” Eva and Zack were both relieved that Gray quickly caught on, despite the complexity of the situation. “Now, tell me about this car.” Eva gave him the license plate number, as best she remembered it. “Thanks. Unless he’s sleeping in it, he’ll have stayed in a hotel last night. That’s where we start. Now, you said he felt he was in danger?”

“He was convinced he would be hurt . . . or killed, maybe, if he didn’t do what they wanted.” Eva was still shaken by events, and her face throbbed annoyingly, but she took regular, deep breaths as Zack had advised. Having him there made everything easier.

“Who do you think these people might be?” Gray asked, resuming his note-taking.

She shrugged. “Drug people in Chicago, that’s all I know. He worked for them for a while.”

That’s not work
, thought Zack to himself, biting down his anger.
Work is where you contribute, you try to change things for the better. He’s an insult to those who plug away at the nine to five. Look at Gray, here at half an hour’s notice on a Sunday morning. That’s work.
He had decided, before Gray arrived, to keep his thoughts to himself. But a grinding, whirring, uncontrollable
need
had already begun, deep in his gut; he needed to
hurt
someone for doing this.

Eva poured out everything she could think of, every last detail, while Grayson nearly filled a notebook. After two hours, he asked if he could have a quick word with Zack outside. “Thanks so much, Eva. I’ll do everything I can. Meanwhile, I want you to rest up,” he handed her a card, “and call me if you think of anything else, or if Hank gets in touch. It would be better for everyone,” he said with a glance at Zack, “if Hank came to speak with me, off the record. I think a lot could be achieved that way.”

He bid Eva a polite farewell, then followed Zack and sat on a small bench by the front door. “What do you think, Zack?”

He blew out his cheeks. “Man, I figured it was just some crazy ex or something. I couldn’t believe it when she said it was her
brother
. I mean, what kind of . . .”

“Put it aside, Zack,” Gray said firmly. “Our job now is to keep her safe, find this asshole brother of hers, keep him safe too, and get to the bottom of who’s dealing out the threats. And that’s all, OK?”

They quickly caught up on recent events in each other’s lives; Gray had been promoted within his department in San Antonio and was rapidly becoming one of the most respected DEA men in south Texas. He had been in a shootout three months before, a short but nasty exchange with three drug-runners who had decided not to go quietly. He had gotten two, his partner the other. Medals were pinned to his chest, but he found it hard to take pleasure in having ended lives.

“They needed ending,” Zack reminded him. “There are people alive and healthy today because of what you did. Focus on that, not the other side.” It was sage advice, Gray knew, from someone who had faced the same issues, but much more frequently and on a far larger scale.

“Good to see you fit and well, Zack. Stay in touch, OK?”

***

Eva made breakfast in that halting, uncertain way of someone in an unfamiliar kitchen. “Where’s the salt?” she asked.

Zack reached up to the spice shelf, his shirt raising up to reveal his incredible abs, and as he passed the cylindrical container to Eva, he noticed that her gaze was not exactly on her work. “Here you go,” he said helpfully, sliding past her in the cramped space to grab plates and coffee mugs from the cupboards.

“Erm, could I go back to Trish and Tyler’s for a little bit today? I kinda need some things.”

Zack shook his head. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”

“You could come with me,” she said, turning to him. “I mean, it’s just some clothes I need.”

Zack was far from convinced, she could see from his scowl. “You can borrow some of mine.”

“Sure,” she chuckled. “What bra size do you take?”

“Huh?” he grunted, caught off guard.

“I bet you’ve got some really comfortable panties in your wardrobe, too.”

“Panties?”

She cracked up laughing, his perplexed scowl only making her laugh more. “Underwear, Mr. Norcross. I’m going to need some.”
Especially if you keep showing me those perfect abs.

The two of them finished assembling breakfast, getting in each other’s way a few times. Eva didn’t mind one bit as he squeezed through, his chest to her back, his hips quickly sliding past in brushed, tantalizing contact with her butt.
Too many layers of clothes
, her confused, horny, distractible mind insisted;
his boxers, his jeans, my borrowed gym shorts (draw-string maximally tightened) and my panties
. . .
just too many.
Sore face or not, worried mind or not, her body knew only how to react to the incredible stimulation of having him close.

As they ate, Zack couldn’t but notice her occasionally wince as she lifted her fork to her mouth. “You OK?”

Eva stretched slightly to her left but stopped almost at once. “I don’t know if it’s a bruise or a pulled muscle. I guess I landed on it after he hit me.”

Zack silently fumed in yet another expression of his unbridled anger, but then gently asked her to show him. Lifting her borrowed t-shirt, Eva showed him her right side, where a large, unpleasantly dark bruise had appeared just under the line of her bra.

“Yeah, you dinged yourself up there. Do you mind if I take a look? You might have cracked a rib, for all we know.” He quickly cleared up the breakfast plates and joined Eva on the sofa.

“Let me move this out of the way,” she said, sliding the t-shirt up over one shoulder so that Zack could examine her right side. She winced once more, her pained expression distracting Zack from the lovely sight of her right breast, held firmly in an attractive, lacey white bra. She turned to show him the bruise. “It hurts when I turn, but I haven’t dared to press it with my fingers yet.”

“OK, this might hurt, but I need to check, OK?” He warmed his fingers with his breath, and then very gently pressed from the front of her ribs to the back, feeling for cracks and looking up at her to check for moments of sudden pain. As his fingers approached the bruised area, she wriggled and winced again. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s OK. Can you feel anything?”

“Just your ribs, nothing broken I don’t think. The bruise goes all the way under your arm, though. Can I continue?” His fingers moved higher, touching the fabric of her bra. “Do you think you could fold this back a little?”

“Ummm, sure,” she said, and then a moment later, “Actually would you mind un-hooking me? It hurts to bend my arm that way.” She leaned forward and felt his fingers on her back, then a quick release of pressure as her bra came undone. “I don’t want to make you blush,” she said gently. “And thanks for warming your hands.”

Zack gently prodded the skin above and around the darkest part of the bruise. It was an angry color, dark purple and black, and around it were areas of yellow; all were painful, and he regretted every moment of discomfort he caused. Eva let her bra fall forward, slipping down the strap from her shoulder, over her elbow, holding the other half in place so that only her right breast was exposed. She glanced down and confirmed what her body had told her: her nipples were incredibly hard, like little strawberry candies. She prayed that he wouldn’t notice.
And
that he
would
.

Zack’s fingers followed the long bones of her ribs as they curved round under her arm. With soft, progressive circles of his fingertips, he traced the bones until the upper parts of his fingers contacted the wonderful, warm smoothness of Eva’s breast. “Feels fine to me,” he said, letting the
double entendre
hang in the air.

“Me too,” Eva said shyly, surprised that she was able to speak. “Those parts aren’t as painful,” she felt it right to say, despite her body simply agonizing for him to go on, to touch the begging, straining nipple which felt as if it might explode with excitement.
Kiss it
, her body told him.
Put your mouth on it
. His fingers went lower, checking the endings of her rib bones, and then back across, under her arm.

“I’m not a doctor,” he said, “but I don’t believe you’ve broken anything. You’d not have been able to stand contact like that.”

I could barely stand it, believe me,
Eva didn’t say. “Well, that’s good news,” she said, pulling her bra strap back up and snapping the catch closed once more. “Thanks so much for checking.”

“No problem,” he said, and as he stood, Eva could have sworn – on a stack of Bibles – that saw a large bulge in his sweatpants. It was only for a second, and then Zack headed for the shower. For ten long minutes she sat on the sofa, breathing slowly and deeply, restraining the urge to peek around the bathroom door. She willed her overactive sex-drive to leave her be, reminding herself that this lovely man was, among other kindnesses, going to help to save her brother’s life. Idiot though he was, and drain on her sanity he had recently become, he was family and she’d never look at herself in the mirror the same way again if she allowed mindless criminals to hurt him.

Zack transited from the shower to his bedroom wearing only a towel and a shy smile.

“
Sweet Jesus, help me,” Eva breathed, and then stopped short. “And Hank.” Her brother needed his soul saved more, but Eva would certainly have appreciated some divine support in calming her raging desire. “But first, Jesus, help
me
.”

Chapter 7 – Fierce Protector

Curt sat in his car, feeling oddly uncomfortable. He changed the radio station a few times, played around with the sedan’s air conditioning and adjusted his seat, but he couldn’t quite scratch the itch. There was something . . . well,
inhuman
about trusting the word of a machine. Not only relying on its findings, but acting on them. Risking lives because of them.

He had developed a healthy distaste for all things technological when, as a teenager, he had watched the space shuttle
Challenger
self-destruct over Florida, only forty miles from his boyhood home. It engrained in him a life-long skepticism, and contributed (so said his shrink) to college-age depression and maladjustment, which was just another way of saying he was pissed all the time and hated everyone. Some things never changed and, while he’d mellowed as he approached 40, he carried a lingering mistrust of both man and machine. A litany of disappointments – in work, in love, in business – had fossilized his views. So, his vigil outside the motel was marked by an almost childish squirming. He couldn’t wait to get out of the car and
hit something
.

Deliverance arrived as his target departed, taking with it the tiny GPS transmitter he’d placed in its trunk, weeks ago. Curt made a note of the time, and then strode with carefree nonchalance into the lobby. “Say, I’m an idiot, but I think I left my key in the room. Would you mind?” The receptionist was only too willing to help and, within five minutes of his mark leaving the hotel, Curt was beginning the process of thoroughly ransacking the absent man’s hotel room. It was a search which was as efficient as it was fruitless, to Curt’s immense frustration.

“Cocksucker,” he spat, and decided to leave a calling card. He grabbed a bottle of shaving gel from by the bathroom sink and slowly spelled out his message on the mirror: “PAY NOW, OR DIE”.

***

Cheryl was working on her third and fourth theories about Eva’s sudden bruises as she coaxed six loaves of incredibly fragrant rosemary focaccia from the oven. Her young employee had been
hit
. There was no sense in denying it, nor in entertaining the alternative which Eva had offered – that she had walked carelessly into a kitchen cabinet door – which was so clichéd, Cheryl wondered if it had been a plea for help. Her spirits were high enough this morning, the older lady noted, but underneath there was a deeply worrisome sense that Eva’s world had suddenly become a much scarier place.

“They’ll cool for five minutes, then slice ’em for the lunch crowd,” Cheryl said. “Is that friend of yours
still
at the window table?”

Eva glanced through the circular windows of the bakery’s double kitchen doors, although she hardly needed to; Zack would keep watch until her shift finished, he had said, and then drive her home. He had read both local newspapers from cover to cover, and was now paging through the first of three novels from the town’s little library. “He sure is. Just loves your coffee, Cheryl.”

The proprietor grunted mildly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were some kinda royalty and he’s your bodyguard, or something.” Eva laughed easily, aware that Cheryl was twice as worldly as she’d ever be, and ten times as observant. “Well,” she conceded, “provided he ain’t the one who . . .”

“No,” Eva interjected, with the feeling that her boss deserved some honesty. “No, it wasn’t him.”

Cheryl carried the loaves through to the broad countertops they used for slicing and packaging the popular bakery’s breads. “’Kitchen cupboard,’” she harrumphed skeptically, drawing an apologetic face from Eva. “Honey, I seen women beat by every object found in a modern home, and that one,” she said, pointing to the embarrassed girl’s face with the handle of her bread knife, “is found on the end of a deadbeat’s arm.” Eva nodded sheepishly. “Old Cheryl’s too wise for you, darling,” she said, tapping her temple. “Been too many places and seen too many things. You won’t ever hide the truth from me again, now will you, honey?”

Eva gave her motherly boss a squeeze on the arm and sidled back into the kitchen to bring out yet more trays of outstanding breads. She could no more admit to Cheryl that her own kin had inflicted this bruise than she could sign up for the weekend’s martial arts fights; Cheryl was a cherishable institution in this close-knit town, but news flowed through her like she was Reuters. If Hank was to be kept safe, discretion was everything.

There was laughter from the window table. Zack had been spotted by an old school friend, and was catching up. It wasn’t the first time, either; his extraordinary service to his country, and his equally staggering Mixed Martial Arts record, had earned him fame and respect in this community. The more Eva saw, the more she recognized that this was a young man who had, according to these warm and sincere people, never put a foot wrong. His combat achievements, so went the lore, had been curtailed only because a dumbass pilot had bombed his camp; but for that setback, he’d have tackled the Taliban single-handed and brought home Bin Laden’s head in a box. The stoical way he bore his injuries was merely further proof of his considerable – hell, near superhuman – strength in the face of adversity. Texans loved a fighting hero, and a level-headed, not to mention outrageously good-looking one, had all the characteristics of a genuine local legend.

And I very, very nearly caught a sneak peek of his cock this morning
. Eva’s mind had spent her shift wandering between three very different fields of thought: worry about her brother and whether he might not come, or whether he
would
and might hit her again; worry that Cheryl – or a well-meaning customer – would over-react and call the cops on account of Eva’s bruises; and worry that she’d think too much about Zack in his bath towel and wind up with either a sliced open thumb or distractingly moist panties. Or both. It was an exercise in mental control to which her tired mind was hardly equal.

“I ain’t never seen chocolate chips muffins with raisins in, sweetie,” Cheryl exclaimed.

Eva blinked.
Shit!
“Oh, Cheryl I’m sorry, I guess my mind isn’t in the right place today.”

“Don’t you worry, little thing! We’ll name them ‘Muffins Eva’, like the French do. Very classy,” she added, scribbling the new name on the bakery’s chalkboard.

“I’ll get it together, I promise,” Eva assured her, red-faced.

Cheryl knew when to cajole, when to hustle someone along, and when simply to let it be. “We all do it, hun. I work you hard, and I know you’ve had a tough few days.”

Eva said nothing, determined not to be drawn out. She turned her attention to Zack who continued to sit by the window with Sphinx-like patience. For the eighth time that shift, she walked over to pour him more coffee and see if he wanted anything else. “How about a couple of ‘Muffins Eva’?” he asked with a wry grin.

“My own invention,” she said with mock pride, setting down his plate. “It’s not every day you witness genuine creativity.” He chuckled again but, as he did so, Eva noticed his eyes sweep the street outside, almost as if drawn there by an invisible force. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said, waving away her concern. “Just an old habit.”

It was only half a lie. SEALs were trained to habituate hyper-observant behavior, but a retired one, sitting in a bakery, hardly needed to call on such skills. Unless, that is, he was watching a car, its driver similarly hyper-alert, pass the bakery for the fifth time since lunch.

***

“So, what’s going on round here tonight?” Zack asked as he brought the car to a smooth halt outside Trish and Tyler’s place.

“I think it’s date night,” she answered. “It’s their way of softening the impact of an unwelcome Monday, Tyler told me.”

“There’s nowhere in the world that Mondays are welcome,” Zack agreed, laughing. “But what about you?”

Eva shrugged. If anything, she would work a little on her novel and maybe watch a movie. “Not much.”

“Well,” Zack began, “if you’re not busy, maybe we could take ‘date night’ as our cue?” Eva stared at him, sure she had just been asked out, but somehow unsure what to say next. “I mean, we could grab some dinner and . . .”

“Yes,” she said simply.

Zack smiled broadly, as entertained by her quirky reply as he was relieved it was in the affirmative. “Great! May I pick you up at seven?”

You can do absolutely anything you want to
. “Sure. Seven.”

“OK, see you then?” he said, amused that Eva was suddenly, hilariously dumb-struck.

“Yup.”

“Great.” Zack found himself grinning all the way back to his place.

Eva had left the car, entered the house, undressed and was in the shower before her mind had become even slightly present. “I’m going on a date with Zack,” she said to herself, testing the notion against the stiff criteria of reality. “A date,” she repeated. “With Zack.” As the concept sank in, a flutter of excitement became an anxiety surrounding what she might wear, what she should do with her hair, whether or not she should shave . . .

She reached for the razor and decided that it was simply neatness and comfort to tidy things up down there, not a prediction that anyone would be seeing her naked. “I’m going on a date,” she repeated. “With Zack.” She set down the razor, its task complete. “Holy
fuck
.”

***

Getting ready to go out was a series of tasks which would, she knew for certain, fill all of the available time, plus ten percent. Having spent far too long trying on everything in her closet, and then far,
far
too long on her hair, she was up against it as the clock read 6.45. By the top of the hour, she was very stressed but looked fabulous in her favorite purple, ruched, strappy dress, just provocative enough without giving too much away. Her long, auburn hair was beautifully smooth, framing her pale face like a protective cloak. She fastened to her wrist a gold bracelet from her mother and then wound up endlessly dithering between her black lace panties and the matching purple thong, so that when the car horn sounded outside, she was still commando. Hurriedly pulling on the black panties from her webcam show, she checked herself in the mirror once more, took three deep breaths and headed outside.

It was a cooler evening than the last few, perhaps sixty degrees as the sun set. Locking the door and turning, she found Zack leaning proudly against the gleaming hood of a silver 1960 Pontiac Bonneville, a stretched coupe which oozed glamour, its gorgeous, sleek lines glorified by swathes of impossibly lustrous chrome.

“Your carriage awaits, M’Lady,” he said with a polite bow.

Hold on to it, girl,
cautioned Eva’s inner voice.
I know he’s smoking, worldly, muscular and
. . .
oh, hang it, he’s perfect
. . .
just don’t go leaping before you look.
Part of Eva knew it to be true, that discretion was the better part of valor, but other parts couldn’t wait to be as passionately, wetly indiscrete as any smitten girl ever had.

“Good evening,” she purred. “This is
some
chariot!”

He closed the door for her as Eva got comfortable in the roomy, leather interior. Zack took his place behind the almost comically giant steering wheel and confessed, “It’s not mine, just borrowed from Flynn’s dealership down the highway. But I
love
this car. If I ever make some money, I’ll have it sitting in my garage, with the greatest of pride.”

“Excellent taste,” she said, without sarcasm. “I bet you show up to all your first dates in a classic car, though, right?”

Zack raised an eyebrow, popped the car into gear and slid onto the main street, heading out of town.
Did I just accuse him of being a serial womanizer?
Eva hated silence after she’d said something she feared might have been dumb. “So, erm . . .”

“You like Thai food?” he asked brightly. “There’s a new place about half way to San Antonio, it’s in this place that’s just a little backwater town like here,” he said, his haste revealing some date-night nerves. “Buddy of mine recommended it, and he’d know. His wife’s Thai.” He paused. “Or is she from Laos? Anyway, he says they have a great selection, so . . .”

“Perfect,” Eva said, happy to cut off Zack’s endearingly nervous chatter. “And . . . Zack?” He turned to her. “You can . . . you know, relax. I’m not going to bite.”

Zack dropped his shoulders with a little sigh and then laughed at his own edginess. “Good to know.” The countryside looked as pretty as rural Texas ever did, the fields bathed in a pre-twilight orange. “Say, I don’t want to talk about this any more than you do, but . . . have you heard anything from your brother?”

Eva stiffened slightly but remembered that Zack only wanted to help. “No, nothing,” she answered. The driver nodded slowly. “Do you think that’s good news, or bad?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Zack opined. “Grayson is looking into things, and I’d trust him with my life if I had to. We just need to put the two of them in a room, and Gray will be able to make some things happen.” Eva felt another wave of reassurance calm her nerves. It was like an extra-sensory ability; she heard his voice and she immediately felt better, safer, more protected. She looked across at him, his hair waving in the breeze, a wonderfully fitted white button-down shirt accentuating the best parts of his physique. She tried not to glance at his dark blue jeans, remembering the warm thrill she’d felt at the impressive bulge under his towel . . .