The Protector (31 page)

Eryn
nodded. Ike had to push her up the leaf-slick incline, one palm on her rounded bottom. She crawled the last few feet on her hands and knees, panting for breath, but she didn’t complain.

Just as he gained the rise behind her, his sixth sense whispered words of danger.

Too late.
He should have made certain the road was clear first. A police cruiser stood directly in their path, parked on a road obscured by the passing of decades. The Sheriff of Rockingham County leaned against it, gripping his holstered side arm.
 

“Drop your weapons, Calhoun,” he drawled on a note of authority.
 

Berating himself viciously, Ike eased his sniper rifle off his shoulder and placed it slowly at his feet. He flicked a pale-faced
Eryn
a reassuring look. He still had his Python, his Gerber blade, and the Glock in his pack.

“Take it easy, Calhoun. We’re not here to arrest you,” the Sheriff drawled.
 

We?

The passenger door opened suddenly, and Dwayne Barnes emerged from behind the tinted windows to send Ike a conciliatory grin. “I figured you’d come this way,” he said.
  

“You need our help, LT,” added his uncle. “Between the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team and the State Police, there are over two hundred men in uniform out there looking for you. Every road in and out of the county is blocked.”

“Oh, my God,”
Eryn
whispered.

“We’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” said Dwayne, with a level look.

Was he serious? Ike looked back at the Sheriff, who nodded his agreement.

“The government boys have got it all wrong,” insisted Olsen. “You’ve been good to us, LT. You’re a patriot, not an outlaw. We’d like to help you out.”
 

Humbled by the locals’ sense of loyalty, Ike glanced down at
Eryn
, who squirmed out of the Ghillie suit as she came to her feet. Dwayne and his uncle both fell silent as she emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon. “Hello, I’m
Eryn
,” she said, stepping forward to shake the Sheriff’s hand, then Dwayne’s as he rounded the car to greet her.
     

A warm tide of respect washed over Ike as he watched her. The woman had been to hell and back. She’d been scared out of her wits and pushed to her limits, but there she was, all manners and grace, shaking hands with the Sheriff like she’d arrived to share a pot of tea. He fucking loved her.
 

Rocked by the realization, he let the others bask in her presence while he pulled himself together and mulled over their offer. He, for one, didn’t need their help. He could slip past any hastily assembled barricade, especially under the cover of darkness. But
Eryn
could use a break. “Can you take us to Naked Creek Vineyards?” he said, cutting through the pleasantries.
   

“Not a problem,” said Sheriff Olsen. “There’s just one thing. You’ll have to travel in the trunk.” Rounding the car, he lifted the hatch and sent
Eryn
an apologetic grimace. “They’re searching all the cars that come through.”
 

Ike had decided the men were trustworthy. Scooping up his rifle, he guided
Eryn
toward the trunk and stuffed his pack and both Ghillie suits inside. Then he helped her in.

“This is a first,” she admitted, climbing awkwardly into the enclosed space. She laid her head on his pack.

Dividing a final look between Barnes and Olsen, Ike eased in next to her and twisted onto his back, holding his rifle in readiness across his chest.

The Sheriff sidled around, took one last look at them, and wordlessly shut the trunk, snuffing out the sunlight.

Chapter Fourteen

In the cramped trunk of the police car,
Eryn
shifted closer. “Ike,” she called, as the tires rumbled over debris. He could feel tension in the fingers gripping his arm. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” The cruiser started backing down the road.

He’d just been wondering if a reward hadn’t been posted for their capture. “They let me keep my rifle,” he reassured them both. “They never would have done that if they weren’t going to let us go.”

With a weapon in his possession, he simply could not be apprehended. “If something happens, I’m going to take offensive action. You stay behind me, glued to my back, and you do what I say.” He’d gladly die to protect her, if he had to.

She hugged him harder, her fingertips digging into his biceps.
 

“Hey.” He turned his head to look at her. A pinhole of light shone through a crack in the seam of the trunk. “I’ll get you away from all this,” he promised. If he had his way, she would never, ever go through anything like it again.

“I’m not worried about me, Ike.” Her words surprised him. “It’s true I don’t want to go back to the FBI, not at all. But chances are I’d be safe with them, now. They’d take extra precautions after the bombing, don’t you think? It’s you I’m worried about.”

No one had ever said words like that to him before.
    

“You can take care of yourself,” she added. “I know that. But I don’t want you going to jail because of me.”

“
Shhh
.”
Her words made him want to kiss her, not just because she was so goddamn nice to him but also to stop her from fretting. “I’ve been in worse places.”
 

Even in the dark, he could see her eyes glimmering. “I know you have,” she said, thickly. “But you deserve better—”

“No.” He didn’t deserve shit. He sure as hell didn’t deserve her, not that he ever had her in the first place.
   

At his fierce tone, she fell silent. The only sound was the rumbling of the tires and pebbles hitting the car’s undercarriage. With a lurch, the car bounced onto asphalt, and the white noise faded leaving the trunk suddenly quiet.
 

“Ike.” She moved even closer, pulling his arm between her breasts.

“What?” Would he ever get to caress those breasts again, suck those raspberry nipples into his mouth?
 

 
“You have to forgive yourself for what happened to your teammates,” she urged in a desperate whisper that made him feel like the end was near for them.
    

The advice closed a fist around his heart and squeezed. He pretended not to hear her.

But his silence didn’t deter her. “You need to find the survivors and to talk to them. They don’t blame you, Ike. I know they don’t.”
 

He could only hope she was right. But, damn
it,
this wasn’t the time to discuss his issues. He needed to concentrate on the route the Sheriff was taking, so he could be sure they were headed in the right direction.

With a troubled sigh, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Longing sluiced through him, dragging him into an undertow of pointless yearning. More than anything, he wanted to rise up and surpass her expectations. He wanted to be worthy of her respect, but the road to redemption was dark and treacherous. A cold sweat breached his skin at the mere prospect of traversing it. He lay there, his stomach roiling.
 

Suddenly, the sedan, which had been clipping along at forty or so miles per hour, slowed to a stop. Ike braced himself to keep from sliding into
Eryn
. Outside, he could hear raised voices, the tramping of feet. He tightened his grip on his rifle.

“You see anything, Sheriff?” asked a voice Ike didn’t recognize.

“Neither hide nor hair,” said Olsen, in his distinctive drawl. “We went way back in the woods, all around Green Mountain.
 
Didn’t see
nothing
. Good luck
findin
’ him,” he added.

“Thanks. You can go on through,” said the stranger, thumping the trunk as the car eased forward.

Eryn
jumped at the sound.
 

The sedan swung left and picked up speed. Recognizing the angle of the turn, Ike let himself relax. They’d barreled through the first barricade. Now they were now headed swiftly toward Naked Creek Vineyards. In just a few more minutes,
Eryn
could take a hot shower, sleep in a comfortable bed, and enjoy the amenities she’d been without for days. It only drove home how little he had to offer her.
 

“Out you go,” said the Sheriff, opening the trunk.

Sunlight blinded
Eryn
. Ike rolled out ahead of her like a coiled spring. A moment later, he hauled her out after him. As he reached back inside for his pack, she turned full circle, noting that the cruiser had stopped in the middle of a vine-draped field, on a dirt track that divided trellises as far as the eye could see.

Bright green tendrils with leaves just beginning to unfurl coursed the length of strings that stretched the length of a pasture. A mansion, painted lemon yellow, lorded over the vineyard a hundred yards away. Lovely, she thought, feeling her fear and weariness slip away.
 

“Sheriff.”
Ike extended his hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” said the older man, pumping with enthusiasm. “But it was Dwayne’s idea. Felt he owed it to you.”
 

Ike headed for the lowered passenger window. He and Dwayne shared a long look. “Sorry ’bout the other day,” Ike finally said. “No hard feelings?”

“None,” Dwayne agreed, grinning at him. The Sheriff slipped behind the wheel, and in the next instant, the cruiser started backing away, leaving them standing on what had to be a tractor road.

“Come on.” Ike shouldered his pack and grabbed her hand. Together they followed the tracks in the dark earth, past the rows of trellises, headed straight for the house.

“Who lives here again?” The sweet-smelling soil and the tidy lines combing the fields soothed her lingering concerns.
  

“Former trainee.
Some punk kept vandalizing his vineyard, screwing with the machinery. Chris took my course to put a stop to it; caught the culprit and sent him to jail.”

“So, Chris owes you a debt of gratitude.” She shot him a look. “Is he expecting us?”
   

“He is now.”
 

As they passed the last line of grape vines, the house came fully into view, and
Eryn’s
eyes widened. “Now that’s a house,” she exclaimed, impressed by the French architecture.

In the same instant, a tall, raw-boned man slipped out of an adjacent building. Crossing the pebbled courtyard, he gestured for them to follow.

Entering the mansion via a rear entrance,
Eryn
found herself in a mud-room with tiled flooring, a sink, and state-of-the-art laundry appliances. She took a deep breath, savoring the scent of fabric softener.

“I thought you might come here,” said the man, grasping Ike’s hand. He slid
Eryn
an assessing look.
  

“This is
Eryn
McClellan,” said Ike. “
Eryn
, Christopher
Axtel
.”

“Chris,” said the giant, engulfing her hand in his. Speculative blue eyes shone from a weathered face. “Your father is the ISAF Commander.”

Startled,
Eryn
glanced at Ike.

“How do you know that?” Ike demanded. “And why’d you think I’d come here?”