Chapter 9 Calder #2
“Nothing, I just can’t believe I paid eight thousand dollars to wear scrubs for two weeks.” She tried to brush off the question with uneasy humor, like I hadn’t noticed her hesitation and the shadows staining her eyes. “I need to change, can you . . .”
“Yeah,” I clipped and strode over to the locker marked 19.
Keeping my back to her, I unlocked it and began putting my things inside. Backpack. Empty wallet. Phone. I’d already left my Glock in the truck because there was no chance—legitimate or not—they’d let me take a weapon to the program.
“Do you think they’re going to go through our things?”
“Probably,” I said without hesitation, attempting to ignore the sound of fabric separating from her skin. Attempting and failing.
“But if they check our wallets, they’ll see our IDs—”
“We’re not going to leave them,” I told her, biting my cheek when I heard the zipper of her jeans pause. “Just take yours out when you’re . . . done, and I’ll handle it.”
The metal teeth continued to flay apart, simultaneously unzipping the seam between reality and fantasy in my mind. And when I closed my eyes, it only gave that fantasy a highlight reel. Her top gone. The denim unwrapped from her legs, leaving her in nothing but—
“Calder.” Lara’s voice, and her soft hand on my shoulder, made me jerk. “I’m done.”
Fuck, so was I.
Bracing myself, I turned, unable to stop my eyes from sweeping down and taking her in.
If the goal was for everyone to be in uniform attire that wasn’t a distraction for any reason, then Lara had failed.
Or maybe I had. Because I could still track down every dip and curve of her body beneath the supposedly ill-fitting clothes.
The bland blue-gray color even set off the vibrant shade of her hair and the pink in her cheeks—a pink that deepened the longer I looked.
Maybe it was the smoothie. Had to be. But she was the doctor; she’d know whether something was wrong.
“You can add your stuff,” I said, and stepped behind her so I could change.
“Where are you going to keep our IDs?”
“With us,” I grunted, moving as quick as I could, but hiding a hard-on underneath too-thin clothes wasn’t an easy feat.
“How?” she asked as I came up behind her, setting my clothes on the top shelf where she couldn’t reach.
Lara spun around, her eyes wide when they landed on my chest.
“Give them to me. I’ll show you,” I rumbled, my voice dropping lower.
She extended her hand, her license and two credit cards in her palm.
Taking them, I lined their edges up with my own and then bent down with my back to the wall of shelves like I was going to tie my shoe.
Tipping forward onto the ball of my foot, I grabbed the heel of my work boot and turned it to the side, revealing a hidden compartment.
I looked up at Lara, my gaze conveying everything I needed her to know—and her blank expression told me she received the message.
After tucking all forms of our identification into the carved-out slot, I slid the heel back in place.
“Wow,” she said when I straightened. “What other gadgets do you have hiding in your clothes?”
We both froze. The catch of her breath marked the tear of lust as it arrowed into my chest. What she’d said . . . what we both heard. It was a mistake. A misspeak. But she didn’t correct it.
I waited, seconds peeling away like rings of a centuries-old oak, yet she didn’t try to correct herself—to overexplain. Just like at the diner, we found ourselves shoved together in a way that neither of us wanted to untangle.
But we had to. I had to.
“We should go.” I held out my arm, channeling all my energy into stopping a certain gadget from turning to stone.
“Wonderful.” Old Brielle was back, and it appeared she’d found a roll of paper towels from somewhere in the bowels of the building to clean up the smoothie. “I can take you to your ride. Would you like a water for the drive? It’ll only be about fifteen minutes.”
Shit . . . Maybe Callum’s drone could’ve found the retreat in short order.
“No, thank you,” Lara answered this time, my caution clearly affecting her decision.
“Okay. Then if I could just have your key . . .” She trailed off as I set the key ring on the desk. “Great. This way, please.”
We followed her outside, her heels rocking on the uneven dirt path that led around the side of the building.
“Hold on one second,” I called before we reached the corner. Brielle and Lara both stopped and looked at me, confused. “I just want to make sure I locked my truck.”
Brielle nodded but looked impatient.
I jogged over to my truck, my feet kicking up dirt as I checked the driver’s-side door. I let the handle land with a thud so everyone heard the confirmation.
“All good,” I said, returning with another apology. “Sorry about that.”
Without comment, Brielle directed us around to the back of the building, where I noted the second egress point.
Two exits, as I’d expected for a building this size.
One out front and one out back. Why we were brought around the building rather than straight through was an inconsistency I filed away for further consideration.
Behind the building, an early 2000s Jeep Wrangler was parked on the other side of a small thatch of trees, the engine running at a low hum. Mud caked the tires and wheel wells, and the windshield had only a patch where the wipers had cleared the grime.
The driver’s-side door swung open.
“Lara, Calder. This is Matthew.” Again, Brielle’s display hand swung out to introduce the large man striding toward us.
He wasn’t wearing scrubs, instead sporting boots, jeans, and a black polo underneath a black jacket. I had a feeling he was around Creighton’s age, but with his bald head and intensely serious face, he appeared older.
“Matthew is our head of security and will be escorting you to the campsite.”
“Security?” I asked, extending my hand along with an easy smile and a feigned laugh. “Do we have something to worry about?”
“Oh, no—”
“We’re heading into BLM lands, Mr. Calder,” the man rasped, not only cutting off Brielle but also completely ignoring her as he took my hand, his grip dominating. “There are lots of dangers in the wilderness—bears, wolves, cougars, bison. Someone has to be prepared.”
And that someone was apparently him.
He drew his hand back and rested it on his hip, revealing a glimpse of his holster inside his jacket.
I forcibly stopped myself from raising an eyebrow; the Beretta 9mm would be useless against all the mammals he’d listed.
Like an umbrella in the middle of a hurricane, the small-caliber handgun would hardly put a dent in most of the animals that roamed the BLM.
A person, on the other hand . . . My jaw screwed tighter.
“We need to get going. Dr. Julia is waiting.” His terse tone was followed by an equally abrupt about-face.
“Enjoy your journey!” Brielle called after us, to which Lara returned a thank-you.
Taking the path behind the vehicle, I noted the missing license plate from the back.
Bold. There must have been a plate for it somewhere; they wouldn’t risk driving on the road without one, but out here .
. . the BLM lands were the real Wild West. No one policed them, let alone checked license plates.
Then again, if you had nothing to hide, there was no reason to have no plate.
Sketchy strike three.
I opened the passenger door, lifting the seat forward for Lara. We shared a glance as she slid into the back, her pupils more dilated than before.
“You okay?” I asked quietly once she was seated, waiting for her nod before I pushed the seat back and climbed in.
The inside of the vehicle was spartan. Not quite as dirty as the exterior but certainly not luxurious. The center console displayed the incorrect time and was set to Cassette mode; whatever year the Jeep was had to have been one of the last when they still put cassette players in the dash.
“Buckle up. The ride out is bumpy,” Matthew ordered and then hit the play button. As he shifted the manual transmission into reverse, a woman’s voice came through the speakers, low and melodious.
“Hello. My name is Dr. Julia Maxwell, and today you are embarking on your journey toward a transcendent relationship, a journey that begins by stripping away the distractions and expectations of the world we live in and finding the wilderness within . . .”