Chapter 2
I fucked up.
Not only did I get physical with a primary, I said her name when it’s off-limits, and revealed information that’s strictly locked down.
Jesus, I’m an idiot.
I’m also royally screwed because when she was writhing on my thigh, all I could think about was making her mine. Mine.
As in wifed-up.
Drunk on dick. Never-look-at-another-man mine.
“Get in the truck,” I yell, equal parts pissed at myself and her.
“That’s not happening”
“It’s for your own safety.”
When she stares at me, vibrating with her anger at me, I shake my head and get in her space. I’m a physical guy. My negotiation language is in-your-fucking-face, and it’s served me well.
“I need you to get inside the truck.”
She screams bloody murder, kicks like a mule, and manages to land another one of those knockout blows to my shin. For Pete’s fucking sake, the woman’s a wildcat.
She’s also my best friend’s little sister which means her wild streak shouldn’t make my dick as rigid as a lodgepole pine.
“Help me!” she yells.
Thank God there’s no one around to hear all the commotion. But as fucking luck would go, the Sheriff’s department SUV tops the rise at the perfect time to see me hauling her to my truck.
Great. Just what this situation needs.
I open the passenger door and deposit her inside on the seat, half tempted to buckle her in just to slow her down.
“I need for you to listen to me and listen fast.”
She’s squirming, cursing a blue streak until I grab her face with calloused fingertips that have never touched skin so soft.
“I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to protect you.”
She’s panting, her pupils are lakes, her body shaking.
This drives a spike into me. I don’t like scaring women. Ever. But River Allison is known as a spitfire. Both through her brother’s stories and her reputation on the rodeo circuit where she might as well be a rocket ship aimed for the top of the sport.
“How do you know my brother?” she bites out.
I exhale hard, my brain twisted into a tactical pretzel.
This was supposed to be simple. Now it’s anything but. “I served with him,” I admit, wondering if I’ll regret this reveal.
River processes that for a second, staring up at me with scrutiny. “You’re a SEAL?”
Her doubt slides under my skin like a thorn.
Gruff, I reply, “I know that’s hard to believe given I’m not wearing a wetsuit with a mask and snorkel, but I’ve been in civilian security for a few years.”
The puzzled way she looks at me makes me almost relieved. But if I’ve learned any lesson, it’s don’t trust the cover of a book.
The sheriff is walking up, and just as I suspected, he’s not happy.
“What’s going on here?”
I pin River with a look, which she throws back at me. When she opens her mouth, it’s not the scream I’m dreading.
Her voice is almost calm. Maybe even a little too flat. “My truck caught on fire.”
Well, shit.
The sheriff looks between us. “Is there a problem between you?”
He has no idea the depth of the problem, and he won’t be finding out from me. I nod once. “She’s angry because I wouldn’t let her go back to get more belongings.”
He looks at her for confirmation.
She nods, the motion stiff.
We look like a couple in a fight. Thank God.
The officer shifts, his hand still resting on his revolver grip. “Can I get an I.D.?”
It’s not really a question, so I reach for my wallet, keeping my movements slow. “Her purse is in the fire, but I’ve got mine.”
When I pass my license to him, he studies it for a second before he’s looking at me again. His expression is different.
“You working?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He glances around, eyes taking the same path mine did. All the places a threat could be hiding, and there are plenty. We’re sitting ducks.
“Let’s get her statement at the station.” He hands my license back as he says, “It’s too exposed here.”
Finally something goes right. I probably don’t need to say this, but I do anyway. “You need to get your arson specialist on that truck.”
“On it.”
The seasoned officer’s brows are lower, harder now that he realizes River’s under private protective detail. He also knows, just like I do, there’s no good reason for River’s brand new truck to be burning to ash in the middle of nowhere.
Especially not when there’s a suspected threat against her.
It’s too coincidental. And if it is a fluke, then so be it. But I’m not taking chances.
River, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, demands, “What’s going on? What are you talking about being exposed?”
The officer looks at me, his expression saying it all. He’s not going to assume responsibility for a Lone Star Security primary.
“I’ll lead the way to the station,” he says.
“Copy that.”
When he turns on his heel and strides back to his SUV, River’s gasp is loud. “He just left me with a deranged lunatic. You could be a murderer.”
Technically I am, but that’s another conversation altogether.
“We’re following him to the station,” I tell her.
Anything else she says is drowned by the firetruck’s arrival. The roaring engine shakes the ground. Two more vehicles arrive with lights on their dashboards. Men fan out, grabbing gear, leaping into action.
More variables. More distractions. More possible threats.
I need her out of here fast.
Turning my attention back to River, I rest my arm on the roof of the truck and lean down so there’s no mistaking how serious I am right now.
“Take a good look at me. I’m 6’6” and two seventy-five.
I run, I train, I tackle like an animal on its prey.
If you get out of the truck, I’ll chase you down and bring you back.
Do you understand that I will not be happy? ”
She glares at me, anger licking red streaks across her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you know my brother, then call him. Right now. My phone was in the truck or I’d be calling him to find out who the hell you are.”
“That’s going to be hard, he’s OCONUS.”
She blinks up at me, reality knocking her back in the seat. Her brother’s on a mission outside the US.
“God,” she exhales, looking at me like I’ve slapped her. “When will he be back?”
“Four months.”
She looks away from me, color seeping out of her complexion. “What did that cop mean when he asked if you’re working?”
I consider my options. The playing field for the assignment is completely different than it was half an hour ago.
“I need to call my boss.” I close the door, put her saddle in the back seat and walk around the hood of the truck, keeping one eye on her.
She’s stewing when I start the engine and pull away from the side of the road, falling in behind the Sheriff.
Gray answers on the second ring. “You calling with good news?”
“No.”
“Fuck. That’s my least favorite word.”
“Mine too.” I flick a glance toward River who is staring straight ahead and if I’m reading her right, she’s plotting my demise.
“I’m with The Rhinestone.”
Whatever Gray was doing on the other end of the line stops when he hears River’s code name. No more walking or thumping or whatever the hell was going on.
“Something happened?”
“Her truck burned down on the side of highway Seventy One.”
There’s a long silence. “Where are you taking her?”
“First the sheriff’s office to file the report, then disappearing. Use your contacts and get a message to Caleb to call me as soon as he can.”
River jolts beside me. I don’t look at her. Instead I scan the mirrors, but I don’t have to look at her to feel her stare. Or anything else about her.
Christ, my body is hyper aware of hers.
“Report in when you can,” Gray says.
“Copy that. I’m going to need some backup. I can tell that already.”
“On it. Just tell me when and where.”
I thank the owner of Lone Star Security and hang up right as we pull into the single-story brick building that looks like every other small town sheriff’s office in Texas.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
I shift in my seat, hanging my wrist over the steering wheel. “I’m Symon Drake. They call me Diesel. I’m your new best friend, your shield, your captor, and anything else I need to be for the next four months.”
“Well, then. I hope you like Valentine’s Day because you’re going to my Rodeo.”