Under Fire (22 page)

Who was he supposed to tell, since Rachel had fallen off the map? He’d already tried reaching out to officials. If he ended up locked in a loony bin, he wouldn’t be of any help to Cat.

He’d been all set to go home after breakfast, but while he was forking down French toast, he’d realized a silver sedan was casing her house. The vehicle had driven by at least three times before driving away. He’d warned her to be careful here alone, and she’d simply shrugged off his concern, insisting no one would mess with her because of all the dogs.

Her lack of concern fueled his determination to keep watch.

A movement caught his attention and he straightened in the seat, the weight of his gun in the holster familiar, comforting. A truck pulled onto the street, a black, crew cab Ford with a lone male in front.

Could just be someone dropping off or picking up a pet. Except the dude got out of the truck and—no dog. Catriona met him at the gate, no dog with her either.

Someone touring the place? Maybe. But still strange he hadn’t brought his pet along.

He profiled the guy. Military haircut. Lean but fit. Wearing what looked like some kind of festival T-shirt and running shorts. The back of his truck had a huge Gatorade dispenser.

So maybe the guy was a boyfriend. Just because he’d gotten vibes from Catriona that she was attracted to him didn’t mean squat. She could still have a boyfriend, or some guy who wanted to get to know her better.

Yeah, that fit better, because if she had a guy, there would have been signs.

Harley nudged him.

“Not now, girl.”

She head-butted him harder.

“Really, in a minute. I’m busy.”

She pawed him on the leg again and again.

“Okay, okay, you need to go out. All that water. Got it.” He turned to get her leash from the back.

And saw a silver sedan cruising down the street. Straight toward Catriona’s house. The guy riding shotgun
had
a shotgun. He pointed it through the open window, directly at Cat’s home.

Brandon whipped the truck into drive and nailed the gas. Tires squealing, he peeled out of the driveway, the nose of his truck aimed at the sedan.

***

Catriona’s breath whooshed from her lungs as she hit the ground. One quick gasp filled her mouth with sand.

Not all that surprising, since she’d been crushed to the ground by some guy she’d just met. A military guy named Jose James who’d said he was looking for Brandon a second before he’d body-slammed her to the gritty driveway.

Pops echoed. Like gunshots? Ohmigod, ohmigod, she gasped for breath, her chest going tighter.

A crash sounded, close, out on the road. Crunching metal and shattering glass. Then a bubble of silence.

Barking erupted in the aftermath. Dogs of all sizes charged and pawed at the fence, their frenzy deafening. Her senses went on overload trying to process so much at once.

Panic scratched at her nerves as tangibly as the sand and gravel under her cheek. Of course they were freaked out. So was she.

Desperate to see what was going on, she spit the sand out of her mouth. “What the hell are you doing? Get off me, please.”

“Hold still,” he warned against her ear.

“Really, I’m oka—”

Abruptly, he was off her as quickly as he’d flattened her.

She rolled to her back, then to her feet, and found not just the new guy but… Brandon running toward her?

Thank God he’d returned, because this stranger was seriously freaking her out. And oh God, Brandon’s truck was buried in the side of the silver sedan. There were two men in front, both sitting up and alert. Apparently unharmed. Engine revving, the car squealed into reverse, then forward, spewing smoke as it roared away.

Brandon tugged her arm, the familiar feel and scent of him soothing her fear.

The gun in his hand, however, she did
not
recognize.

“Cat, get back!” Brandon hauled her to her feet, his body between her and the men in the car.

Where were her neighbors? She scanned the street for someone, anyone. But either her two elderly neighbors had their hearing aids turned down or they were already calling the cops. Hopefully the latter. The rest of the houses were empty, either for sale or foreclosed. She should call the police, except her cell phone wasn’t clipped to her shorts anymore.

Brandon aimed the weapon at the departing silver sedan. He popped off shots, pocking the ground around the car, flattening one tire. The sedan didn’t even slow. The tire rim shot sparks behind it as the car peeled out around the corner.

And what about her dogs? Oh God, what if one of them had been hit by a stray bullet from the guy with a shotgun? She yanked free of Brandon and raced for the backyard. She heard curses flying from both men but didn’t stop to explain.

She shoved through the gate and into the backyard. The pack peeled away from the fence and circled around her. Frantically, she counted and inventoried, her heart pounding… Tabitha? Catriona dropped to her knees beside the massive Argentine Dogo to inspect the streak of red slashing across her white coat. Her training as a vet tech roared to the surface as she carefully examined what appeared to be a simple grazing.
Thank
God.

Brandon’s hand clamped her shoulder. She looked back to see him standing guardedly by Jose James. Who also had a frickin’ gun in his hand?

The two men scowled at each other, weapons gripped firmly.

Her heart hammered against her ribs and she wondered if she might need her old inhaler again. “Hey, fellas, can we all draw down now and maybe someone could tell me what’s going on? Why were the guys in that car shooting at me?”

Brandon’s big black gun didn’t waver from Jose. “What are you doing here?”

Catriona gripped his shirt to restrain him—as if she really even could. “That’s Jose James. He said he was from Patrick Air Force Base, and he was asking about
you
.”

Muscles flexed with tension under her hands. “Is that so, James?”

Jose pointed the muzzle of his weapon skyward, his hands up, nonthreatening. “I’m here for Rachel Flores. She would have come herself, but we needed to know if you were being watched. Good thing we checked, isn’t it? Now how about we step inside? While you’re taking care of the dog’s injury, we can talk.”

***

Liam sent the dogs ahead of them into the seedy motel room.

As much as he hated calling it quits for the day, they weren’t going to reach the cabin tonight. Traveling those Everglades waters in the dark would be dangerous enough on his own. But with Rachel along? Not wise. They could both use the sleep. With luck, he would hear something from Jose soon anyway.

Meanwhile, he needed to keep busy, recon the place, make contingency plans. Do anything other than think about the moment he’d seen her defend that puppy.

He had one mission tonight, keeping Rachel safe, and sadly, this place offered their best bet for flying under the radar.

“Sorry about the one-star rating on the accommodations.” He gave the dogs the freedom to sniff at the two saggy beds and cheap laminate furniture with a serious seventies vibe.

“No need to apologize.” She dropped her backpack on the chair closest to the door. “I understand that finding a place that accepts cash without requiring you to show a credit card as well limited our choices. At least there aren’t bugs.”

Or were there? Best to keep a light on tonight for more than one reason.

He tossed her a bedroll he’d brought from the Jeep. “We can spread out the sleeping bags so you don’t have to actually come into contact with the linens.”

“It’s not that bad, and it’s certainly better than some places I’ve stayed. Remember those half-crumbling cottages we stayed at in the Bahamas after the earthquake? At least the floor’s level here, we have hot water, and there won’t be any aftershocks.”

“True, true.” He flicked on a second light under a cheesy dime-store painting of a palm tree on a beach. Music from the marsh-side bar thrummed through the night. He would have preferred somewhere more secluded, but as she’d pointed out, their choices were limited. “I’m gonna get the rest of our gear out of the Jeep.”

Before someone stole it.

He’d parked the vehicle right in front of their room. As he walked in and out again, he saw Rachel push back the curtains for better access to the AC. They could sure use some air moving in the muggy, musty room. How much more humid could it get without actually raining? Rachel twisted knobs until tepid gusts wafted from the groaning wall unit. He’d bunked in worse and so had she. That didn’t mean he was happy with having her here.

Within five minutes, he’d stacked their stockpile in a corner. “Stay put, and I’ll get the food this time.”

She hitched a hand on her hip, her spunk increasing exponentially since she’d first shown up in his life again. “Worried I’ll make a scene by kicking someone else’s ass?”

“Or that someone will
grab
yours. Have you looked around this place?” He paused in the doorway. Was it safer to leave her here, locked in the room, even though she would be alone? She had weapons—that she didn’t know how to use. “Fine, then. Come with me, stick to my side, and we’ll get supper together.”

Laughing, she tugged his T-shirt. “You are such a man.”

“I hope so.” He eyed the dogs sprawled on the floor in front of the television, wrestling and rolling. “You two, behave while we’re gone.”

He closed the door behind him.

She hooked an arm through his.

Pulling his arm from hers, he hooked it around her shoulders, hugging her tighter to his side. Closer. Nowhere near close enough to keep her safe. With the handgun strapped to his waist he doubted anyone would mess with him. He had a permit to carry, but this also didn’t look like the kind of place where people carded anyone.

He spotted at least seven trucks with gun racks full in clear sight. “Let’s make this quick and seriously low-key this time.”

“I’ve got your back.”

Something in the way she said that made him glance over at her sharply. She simply smiled back and kept walking toward the one-story bar painted a gross, mucusy green.

Inside, the place smelled of smoke and unwashed bodies, sweaty from dancing their slicked selves against each other. He hauled her closer. Yeah, he was feeling primitively protective.

What of it?

He’d seen the same kind of dive bar in countless places around the world. Not that he’d hung out there, but rather hauled someone out before they landed in trouble. Or worse.

He stepped up to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention, settling for the simplest order to speed things along.

“Three cheeseburgers, an order of nachos, and a jug of sweet tea.” He glanced at Rachel quickly for confirmation, and when she nodded, he turned back to the guy wearing a beer-stained apron. “That order’s to go. There’s an extra twenty for you if you move the order to the front of the line.”

He passed one bill over now, the other folded and ready. He didn’t want to flash his wallet full of cash out in the open here.

“Done.” The bartender snagged the twenty and shouted into the kitchen. “Three CBs, nachos, sweet tea—on skates.”

While Liam waited, his eyes drifted over a trio clanking longnecks while they waited in line outside the bathrooms. He watched for any threat, the warm press of Rachel at his side a reminder of the stakes. Her body vibrated against his as she hummed along with the jukebox cranking out an old Roy Orbison classic.

Farther into a shadowy hallway, he saw a couple of other unobtrusive doors. Could have been offices. But he knew they weren’t. As if on cue, a couple sidled toward one of those back rooms. A woman in fuck-me heels, a shrink-wrapped miniskirt, and a tired perm led a sunburned tourist by the hand. Liam scrubbed a hand over his head and looked away, frustrated all over again that he had to bring Rachel to a place like this. But then the luxurious safe-house quarters on base ultimately hadn’t been any more secure.

He’d accepted the failures he’d made in his personal life. He refused to accept failure in his ability to do his job. And right now, his job was keeping Rachel alive and finding out why Brandon Harris’s accusations had set off such a hailstorm in the military community.

The crack and snap of a game of pool reverberated from the back corner. A beer rested on the edge of the table, serving as a paperweight for a couple of twenties. Angling over the velvet table, a middle-aged guy in khaki cutoffs and a T-shirt lined up his shot.

A brawl could break out at any second in a place like this.

Liam leaned on the bar to hurry things up just as the bartender passed over a bag of food and jug of tea. He passed the guy the extra twenty and made tracks back out to the parking lot toward their first-floor room. How had the air gotten even muggier in the span of—he checked his watch—seventeen minutes? Could be something to do with the woman tucked against his side, a woman he would be spending the whole night with alone in a motel room.

He rounded the corner and found… oh crap.