Stranger Mine: a Base Branch novel (5 page)

P
iper twirled
a damp lock of hair and peered through the slit of the vinyl blinds. Ryan jostled the knob he’d broken off the guesthouse in his palm. His hard, tender, far too welcoming palm. At least this time those hands didn’t carry a dead body. He turned with the handle in tow. A slow, sexy saunter swayed his hips. Her body warmed in appreciation. She found herself on tiptoes as he neared the porch and obscurity. A step from it, he stopped, lifted his chin, and touched two fingers to his brow before disappearing into the house.

“Shit. Pure stealth, Vega.”

She tossed the gentle curl over her shoulder and let her finger fall from the window dressing. Her ears pricked at the vibration from the closing door and the tread of his heavy boots through the living room. He wanted her to know where he was. Earlier he hadn’t made a whisper until the knock resonated on the bathroom door. She hadn’t heard his retreat either. Only the shoes Gabrone confiscated from her upon capture, sitting outside the steaming room, proved he’d been there at all.

The footfalls rumbled up the stairs, and her heart stood at attention along with her nipples. She tried pressing the offending flesh down, but only aggravated the problem. His treads died just outside her door and Piper wondered if she could submit to a man, just in the bedroom, just once. Her breath quieted in her lungs as she waited for his knock.

Moments collected then overflowed, forcing her to take a breath or pass out. Her hands rung the hem of the oversize T-shirt she’d taken from the closet. Finally her reserve broke. Piper rushed to the door and grabbed the handle. She hoped he’d be there, but fully expected he’d swung past to check on her then spirited away as he’d done before.

She wrenched the knob from the frame and skidded to a halt, her hair fanning out over her shoulders before swinging back against her sensitive, cotton-covered breasts. A smile quirked his mouth and suddenly a blush of foolishness heated her cheeks. The son of a bitch had waited intentionally, making her come to him. Not that he had that kind of power over her. She’d come because she wanted to. Plain and simple. She wanted to see him again. And now that she did, her brain short-circuited.

The ammunitions pack, assault rifle, ruck, and BDU top all hung from his left hand. A desert-brown tee stretched to accommodate his sinewy torso, pulling taut over his wide shoulders and full chest before tapering to his waist, clinging to every defined abdominal muscle. Sweat dripped from his chin, soaking the already drenched material.

“Since you’re still awake…” The hollow of his dimple grew and she wanted to slam the door in his self-assured face.

When he didn’t continue she hollered, “What? Since I’m still awake, what?”

He bit his lip. The smile he gave was an all-out assault on her self-preservation. “I was hoping you’d stand watch while I grab a shower.”

It was all she could do to keep from sputtering, ‘No,
I’d rather sit on your face and rub that smirk off of it.’
Damn the smile and the man. He sure knew how to bring a girl to her knees. Instead, she said, “Sure. Not like I’ll be sleeping anytime soon anyway.”

“Here. Do you know how to use this?” He lifted an AK-47 from the door jam and handed it over.

“Yeah, you want me to show you?”

“Nah. You have a malevolent little gleam in your eye and I’d prefer my middle not look like a sieve.” He stepped back and turned down the corridor. “Your window perch is a great look-out spot. I don’t expect company, but let me know the moment you even think you see something. Oh, and here.” He pulled a monocular from his pack and tossed it. “Nice catch.”

“I can juggle too. I’m here all night. Don’t forget to leave a tip.”

“You keep pushing me and I’ll give you a tip, all right.” His blue eyes flashed white-hot before he turned and continued down the hall.

Piper guessed he was talking about the tip of his cock. That notion combined with the rippled view of his cloth-covered back flushed her cheeks sauna hot. How dare he leave her scorching and far past bothered? She stomped back inside the room and slammed the door. Before the wood quit shuddering, she turned the lock. A lock wouldn’t keep him out, but it would send a message. She took up post at her eagle’s nest and dared any of those sons-of-bitches to show their face.

He took the longest shower in the history of man. And her mind’s eye had no problem picturing him sluicing the dirt from swollen muscles or taking pleasures with his own body. She’d worked herself into a fuckable frenzy by the time she heard his boots on the tile floor. He paused in front of her bedroom. With anticipation slicked hands she set the night-vision field glass on the floor and rested the gun against the wall at the window before turning toward the strip of light seeping beneath the door.

“Get some sleep,” he barked, and then shuffled down the stairs.

“Seriously? Not even a, ‘Hey have you given any thought to that whole submission thing ‘cause I've got a boner the size of California you could practice with.’ Fuck.”

Piper fell face-first onto the mattress and growled. After expelling all the air from her lungs, she crawled to the top and pummeled the pillow in a two-fold endeavor. Comfort and stress release. She curled into a ball atop the covers and tried to relish the soft mattress under her body and the oblivion of dark. For whatever reason, the prison light stayed on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The incessant light had been more difficult to adapt to than the absent bed, and even the loss of freedom. But those had only been bearable because her imprisonment had a purpose. One the commando fucked with military precision.

A
ryanna Noble’s
serene and youthfully smooth face screwed tighter with each failed call. Her blue eyes met his and she smiled like a scarecrow. “Can you think of anyone else she’d visit?” Ryan could only shake his head. “A boy maybe? Oh, the Tuckers moved in next to Holly and they have a very handsome older son. Maybe they went to spy on him. I’ll try her house again.”

Blood pumped through Ryan’s veins like it was trying to escape. Like if it pumped fast enough it could flee his body and the nightmares plaguing him.

His mother inhaled through her nose and released a long breath and struggled to remain calm through her futile attempts to track her daughter’s whereabouts. His pre-pubescent whine droned, “Why’d we have to cancel the party? The goal’s ready and everything. All we needed was the cake. I hope Becca gets grounded forever.”

“Because your sister has been missing for three hours!” As the shrill words left her mouth the sky clouded. Lifeless gray overtook streaks of sunshine. Fat rain droplets pelted his face, soaked through his clothes. Ryan turned toward the house, but stopped short. His mom lay in a huddled ball on the concrete drive, sobbing. “No! Why? Rebecca!” The policemen stood over her, offering inadequate support.

God, he hated these dreams. Hated the distorted memories. No matter what he did, they never stopped. Every night his regret visited in one grizzly version or another. And, though he knew they weren’t real, he couldn’t seem to wake until the end.

Like every time before, his dad arrived in an all-out run, staring over Ryan’s head as if he didn’t exist. The man’s hair silvered as he skid on slick bottom wing-tips to his wife’s side. Only it wasn’t his wife anymore.

U.S. Senator Jake Noble rolled the limp body into his arms. Long blonde hair cascaded from his sister’s gaunt visage. Death-hazed eyes stared back. Lightning stained the sky a brilliant white and the rumble called forth a rain of bullets that peppered Rebecca’s body with hundreds of irreparable holes and their lives with hopelessness.

The scream he heaved in the dream never followed him into consciousness. Otherwise, they’d put him in an institution. But he could never escape the churn of his gut or the quake of his heart. Ryan leapt into reality and from the chair he used as a bed. Morning light filled the room, illuminating the barrel of his sidearm centered between Piper’s bite-sized breasts.

“Hey, I offered to cook you brunch, not make you have sex the old fashioned way.” Feet spread a comfortable shoulder’s width apart and hips slung to one side, she flashed him a smile. “I never cook. So, you should jump at the offer.” The thumb on her left hand hung on the belt loop of dark jeans. They contrasted with the fluffy white gauze wrapped around her wrist, dangling mid-thigh.

Ryan straightened as though he’d been electrocuted. The H&K fell to his side, and he rubbed the horror and sleep from his eyes. A strand of tears tumbled onto his bare chest. The moisture blended with the sheen of sweat and took cover in the bristle of his hair. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the first tears he’d shed since his sister’s funeral.

He wiped the remnants on the boxers he’d borrowed from a dead man. Probably wouldn’t have to give them back, since the guy wouldn’t need them any more. His chin raised and he breathed until his lungs couldn’t hold a molecule more. He released the breath through parted lips. The technique pulled the reins on his erratic panting and wild heart. He’d had so much practice pulling himself together after an episode, it only took one more breath before he could speak.

“Or maybe I should cook. Cooking, like sex, gets better with practice and discipline.”

Her copper eyes tilted toward the ceiling and her cinched braid waggled with the shake of her head. “If I liked pussy, my life would be so much easier.” With that nugget, she turned on the soles of her tan leather boots and headed for the kitchen.

A smile quirked Ryan’s lips despite the stains on his insides. He shoved his feet into thieved jeans then pulled a white tee over his head. Gun tucked neatly into the small of his back, he turned to the window and surveyed the horizon by day. Too bad the Sinaloa weren’t scheduled to arrive until the black hours of the morning. He’d be able to see them coming from any direction for two miles. As he knew all too well, the thin brush, scrawny cacti, and rocky terrain didn't provide much cover. He had thermal and night vision monoculars, but nothing beat daylight.

He turned his back on the monochromatic rainbow of brown and followed his nose. The thing led him to the curves of Piper’s ass peeking out from behind the refrigerator door. On the island, a cutting board held a whole avocado and beheaded tomato, playing host to the partially imbedded blade. Pans cluttered the stove. One sizzled with eggs while another frothed bubbles over the edge. The third spat grease with a loud pop.

“Mierda.”

“You need some help?”

She closed the stainless-steel door with her foot and turned away as if he hadn’t said a word. The overflowing contents of her arms spilled onto the counter. She plucked a tortilla from a paper bag and tossed it into the popping oil. The white round shimmied in the pan while she whipped a tea bag from the pile and dropped it into the water. She turned the burner off and slid it to a free one.

With a frying pan handle in each palm she shook loose the eggs and tortilla and flipped them into the air. After catching and returning them to the fire, she turned, lips pursed and hands propped on her hips. “You can set the table.”

“Set the table? I plan to blow this place to the moon in a few hours, and you want me to set the table?”

“Yes, as in plates, forks, knives, napkins, cups.” She sliced the tomato and cored the avocado so quickly Ryan found his brow pulled low. “Help, if you’re going to. Everything will be ready in two minutes.”

Ryan hustled around the kitchen, pulling open most of the cabinets and drawers in his search of the requested items. Two by two he set them on the lacquered table across from one another. Before he finished with the flatware, Piper ushered over two plates full of food. She swirled around, snagging a pitcher of orange juice from the island.

Taking a calculated risk, Ryan pulled out her chair and offered it with a wave of his hand. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull back a nub. Amazingly, she sat without a hint of sass.

“Provecho,” she bowed.

“Provecho.”

Her gaze followed the fork to his lips and her brow arched. Taste exploded in his mouth as hot and as vivid as the woman sitting in front of him. The creamy avocado and sweet tomato countered the spice of the eggs. Ryan placed his hand over his heart. “I’ll admit, I’m wrong about the practice. Either you have it or you don’t. And you sure as hell have it.”

She gifted him with a flash of her pearly whites. “I may be rusty, but I’ve had more than my fair share of practice.”

“Are we talking cooking or sex now?”

“Cooking, but…” she said with a shrug. “It could apply to both, I suppose.”

“Who did you cook for, Piper?”

Her tongue slid over her upper lip, stealing away a bit of fluffy green. She took another bite and followed it with a swig of juice. “My little sister, who’s not so little anymore.”

“Hence, the not cooking?”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

He remained quiet, hoping she’d fill the void with words. She considered him with a tilt of her head and as much intent as he studied her. They ate in silence, measuring one another. Once her plate sat empty, she wiped her mouth.

“My mother worked a lot when we were young.” A hint of a smile arched her lips. “So, I took care of dinner and bedtime.”

“Just you and your sister?”

“Ivy,” she supplied. “No, my grandmother lived with us, but rose and slept with the sun. And napped with the cat.” Her eyes darted in the corners of her mind for a moment. He guessed gauging how much to say. That penny-shine gaze settled back on his hair momentarily before meeting his gaze. “My older sister lived with us too. Technically. But she enjoyed the freedom our mother’s absence provided.”

“Another reason you’re so hell bent on doing everything yourself?” Ryan kicked back in the seat.

Piper’s lips thinned and her face screwed tight for a five count. She shoved her plate to the side and slowly relaxed. “Could be. Is your nightmare a one-off thing?”

“No.”

“PTSD?”

“It’s not PTSD.”

All malfeasance fled her face and her fingers spread wide on the wooden table. Though a table separated their proximity, the weight of her stare pinned him in place. “You think because you’re a bad-ass you can’t get it? A cop on the force, a damn fine officer, got pinned down. Even though he read those bastards their rights and shoved them in jail, he had nightmares every time he slept about one of the bullets ripping him apart. He never made anything of it. Less than a year after, he killed himself.”

“You think I’m a badass?” he asked.

Piper rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” he surrendered, “I don’t think a person can get PTSD at age ten.”

Ryan shot from the table and collected the plates. He rinsed them under the heavy flow, focusing far too long on a defect in the blue glaze. Piper’s hand hooked his bicep. He pivoted his head in her direction and his heart dropped into his shoes. The rich tan of her skin was cast with a chalky glow and her bottom lip quivered.

He slammed the lever, cutting off the water, and searched the room for the cause of her distress. When he didn’t see anything he strained his sensitive hearing for any unfamiliar noise. Her shaking head stopped him.

“You were ten and it still affects you?”

Women, he didn’t understand them farther than he could lick them front to back. “What’s wrong, Piper? It’s not like I’m going to swallow a bullet and leave you to deal with this mess on your own.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I just…I can’t imagine…”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He shrugged off her touch and walked into the living room. He used surveillance as an excuse, hurrying out onto the front patio. Piper followed and skirted through the arched door before he closed it. She stepped away, walking several feet before leaning against the wall, her long legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle. Like she intended to stay as long as it took.

He shifted his face toward the horizon, but saw nothing. The past, present, and future tormented him, but no more so than did her presence. He couldn’t ignore her. Lord knows, he tried.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Crossing his arms, he turned to face her. “Well, there are some things I really want to know too.”

Her chin wagged in denial before he finished the sentence. Her lips parted, but the words evaporated in the dry air before reaching his ears. Piper clamped her strong jaw closed and her lids followed suit.

“You may not need anyone’s help, but it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t benefit your cause.”

Her head rested back against the adobe and her chest heaved, drawing his gaze to her engorged nipples. He turned back to the land. He wished away his hard-on. When it didn't leave on its own he chased it away with memories.

“Nearly eighteen years ago my parents surprised me after breakfast pancakes with a ten-foot hoop. I begged them non-stop to construct the thing. Of course, my father had to go into the office for a few hours. Even on the special Saturday. Leaving my mom to decorate the house, cook, and build the goal for my party.

“Did you ever see the movie
Space Jam
?”

“Only a thousand times. Ivy ate only vegetables and she swore she was Bugs Bunny. She wore construction paper ears and a cotton ball tail so much my mom bought stock in Crayola and Cotton.”

“Make sure they have Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny on the cake and don’t mess it up.” Ryan propped his palms on the wooden railing and spread his feet. “That was the last thing I said to my sister. For the first time after getting her license my mom let her drive without an adult in the car. Rebecca only smiled at my demands.” His grip bit into the finish.

“She was car-jacked. But the son of a bitch wasn’t satisfied. Tried to take her jewelry. She fought back and he emptied the magazine into her chest.”

“It’s not your fault,” Piper said.

“She probably thought he was trying to force her into the car. And who really knows. Maybe he was.”

“It’s not your fault,” Piper repeated.

He’d been so wrapped up in a basketball goal that rusted through without ever being used, and a cake that never left the bakery, for a party that never happened, that he hadn’t waved his sister goodbye or even blown her a kiss. “I know.”

“In your head you know, but in your heart…guilt bores holes so deep. You could fall forever and never hit the bottom. Purgatory with your heart slammed against the back of your chest. Your throat mangled raw from the scream that won’t stop. A train of what if’s running the same track in your mind, but refusing you the sweet relief of derailment. Of severing your brain stem and ending the shame.”

Her words shot an arrow dead center down one of the chasms in his heart. Ryan pried his clenched fingers from the railing, and then turned. The hole must not have been all that deep. The broad-head found purchase at the cinched lips and rivulets flowing from Piper’s closed eyes. Agony—hers, his—sliced through his chest, razing every naked nerve ending on its sojourn.