Lethal Balance: Sons of the Survivalist: 2

by Cherise Sinclair

  If there was an epidemic, Caz wouldn’t leave the job, even if his woman demanded he stay safe. He’d listen, he’d take precautions, and he’d do the job he was born to do.

  Caz cleaned up the exam room, disposing of the blood soaked gauze.

  JJ’s blood.

  All the logic in the world wouldn’t remove his need to see her safe.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats. ~HL Mencken

  * * *

  “Dios, is there something in the water around here?” Regan’s father muttered as they walked along the riverbank. On top of the snow.

  Regan looked up, tripped, and Papá caught her arm to keep her from falling. Walking sure was different in snowshoes.

  “Use your poles, mija,” he reminded.

  “Uh-huh.” She forged forward, remembering to keep her feet farther apart. Snowshoes were wider than shoes. “What about the water?”

  “It means…” He frowned, probably trying not to swear, cuz he was kinda grumpy right now.

  She grinned up at him. His hair was all dark, and his eyes were dark, and his skin was brown, even though there hadn’t been any sun in the last few days.

  His eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling?”

  “I look like you.” That sounded awful dorky. “I mean, I’m smiling cuz the sun is shining, and it’s all sparkly out here.”

  He shook his head, grinned, and tugged her stocking cap down over her eyes.

  Giggling, she pushed it back. “What about the water?”

  “It’s a saying. And applies since I heard you got into a fight at school.”

  She scowled. “You talked to Mrs. Wilner.” Concentrating on her feet, Regan worked her way around a half-buried tree trunk. “What did you mean: is there something in the water around here?”

  “JJ broke up a bar fight on Friday—against four drunks.”

  Regan stopped so fast she stumbled, and he caught her again. JJ hadn’t come over all weekend or on Monday, either, even though it’d been Veterans Day and no school. “Was she hurt? Is she okay?”

  Papá’s mouth tipped up at the corners, but his eyes didn’t smile. “She’s all right. Got a bit bruised.”

  He tapped her nose. “Is there something in the water is a saying that means: is there some strange drug people are drinking that makes people act oddly? In this case, what’s making all the women around here into MMA fighters?”

  Regan snorted. He was so funny. “Not MMA. I only hit Shelby once.” And kicked her once. And hit Brayden a couple of times.

  “Uh-huh.” He didn’t believe her.

  She scowled at him.

  After brushing the snow off of a fallen tree, he sat down. She tried to sit beside him, but the trunk was so high, her butt wouldn’t reach.

  He lifted her and sat her on the log. “Picking you up is like grabbing a marshmallow.”

  She patted her puffy red jacket. Audrey said she and JJ had picked it out because it was one of her favorite colors—and that the color was beautiful on her. She really liked it.

  The next time she looked up, his smile was gone. “What, Papá?”

  “The fighting, mija. We need to talk about the fighting.”

  “The resort buttheads are…” She stared out at the lake. It was so covered with snow she couldn’t tell it was a lake. “They’re mean. To me, Niko and Delaney, an’ some of the third-graders. Why do they pick on littler kids? That’s like cheating.”

  “Sí, it is.” He put his arm around her, pulling her up against him, and it made her feel good inside, that he still liked her even if he was pissed off.

  He gave her a little squeeze. “People pick on other people because they think it’ll make them feel better about themselves. They believe saying someone is ugly or clumsy will make them look better. Feel prettier or better.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “It is. They haven’t figured out that you have to be happy with who you are. If they spent less time trying to pick on other people and more time improving themselves, they’d be nicer and more content.”

  “Yeah, that’d be the day.”

  “So, let’s talk about improving you, instead.” When she looked up, his eyes were laughing at her.

  “I’m good. Better than they are.”

  “Ah, but we’re not talking about them. Let’s talk about the fighting, Regan. Is it working for you? Aside from that one second when you hit someone, how does punching those resort bullies make your life better?”

  “Huh?” Make her life better?

  “Think, mija. If something doesn’t improve your life, why do it?”

  She looked away and saw a humungous bird fly over the snow.

  “That’s a bald eagle. See the white head?” Papá smiled and tugged at her hair. “Tell me about your first fights. How old you were and why you first hit someone.”

  She dared a quick glance up. No, he still wasn’t really mad. “Uh…I was little, like first grade, and there was all this Christmas stuff, and I didn’t know anybody, and—”

  “Wait, if it was Christmas, why didn’t you know anyone? Weren’t you in school all that semester?”

  “Nah, I’d only been there a week. I was the new girl.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m always the new girl.”

  “Why?”

  “Mom.” The weight sat on her chest, heavier than her coat, than her clothes. She’d hated Mom sometimes. So why did she miss her so bad? “She got in trouble and got sent to jail, so I got stuck in foster care and got sent to a new school.”

  “Ah.” He sighed. “If you were always the new girl, it must have happened a lot?”

  She forgot he didn’t know how Mom was. Had been. “Sometimes she was in jail. Or she’d find a guy, and we’d move in with him so…new school. Or she didn’t like the city we were in, or she lost her job. Or we’d go to San Diego cuz she wanted to be warmer in the winter.”

  Papá looked mad for a minute, then he kissed her head, right on top of her stocking hat. “You were always moving and always the new girl. The other kids were mean?”

  “Sometimes.” She tugged on the fingers of her gloves. “Mostly. I’m littler. And brown. That makes me easier to pick on, you know.”

  “I do know. I had that problem…and boys probably fight more than girls.”

  Papá got into fights when he was a kid. That’s what the uncles had said. “I never used a knife on anybody.”

  He busted out laughing. “You win, mija. Fists are safer, yes. So, you get into fights because you’re little and new and think you need to push back hard?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. Only this is your home, and we’re not planning to move. You won’t be the new girl much longer, and these children will be your classmates for a long time. Do you want to fight them for years?”

  Oh. She pushed closer to him, looking at the forest, the cabins on the other side of the lake. Years. That was like a long time. “What should I do? Won’t they keep picking on me?”

  * * *

  Caz’s heart almost broke. “Mija, there will always be bullies. The trick is to not give in and to try to avoid violence.” Not something he’d been good at when he was her age. Nevertheless, he’d learned.

  The memory of the last Rescue town picnic came to mind, the pleasure of holding a knife to a mouthy pendejo’s throat, and he shrugged. Mostly learned.

  “Always stand tall, look them in the eyes. Sound strong. I think you’re already good at this, yes?”

  That won him a tiny smile.

  “After that, it depends. Walking away and ignoring them is the easiest solution. Make sure your teacher knows they’re trying to push you around.”

  Regan made a face.

  “Telling Mrs. Wilner isn’t being a tattletale, Regan. If bullies get away with their behavior, they’ll go on and hurt other children, little ones. The teacher needs to put a stop to it.”

 
; She nodded. “But the teacher isn’t always there, and our aide’s been sick.”

  “Sí. You can try talking. Shutting them down by facing up to them. Don’t let them feel good about their crappy behavior. Saying things like: ‘I don’t know why you said that to me, but I don’t care.’ ‘Thanks for letting me know.’ Roll your eyes and walk away. If you make them feel stupid—without going so far as to start a fight—they will not want to continue.”

  “Oh. I get it. Nobody likes feeling dumb.”

  “Exactly. Also, bullies are cowards. If several of you stand together, they won’t take you on. If you see someone being harassed, go to them. Have an understanding with your friends that you’ll hang together against the assh—ah, the bullies.”

  Regan looked down. “That’s why I got in the last fight. Shelby and Brayden were pulling Delaney’s hair, and I yelled at them, and I pushed Shelby to make her move away.”

  The surge of pride was unstoppable. He couldn’t keep from grinning. Dios, he was a terrible father. He’d probably ruin this child. Somehow, he needed to show her the balance. “We will make a bargain, you and I. If you start a fight without a good reason, you’ll get in trouble at school and at home, too. If the bullies are only being rude, you shouldn’t hit them or shove them. However, if they are pushing or hurting you or your friends, if they have made it physical, then—although you might get in trouble at school—you won’t be in trouble with me.”

  He couldn’t protect her. The feeling of helplessness made him shake. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to school. You could—”

  “Papá, I want to go to school.” She patted his arm, comforting him. “Delaney is there. And Niko.”

  She was making friends. Widening her world. He couldn’t keep her in a safe box and expect her to grow. “But—”

  “I can handle the resort buttheads.” Her shoulders were back. Chin up. Fuck, he was proud of her. She leaned into him. “If they were grownup, I’d need you.”

  Her facing off against an adult? The thought was horrifying. She was just a mite, so tiny and thin and—

  The realization hit him like a blow.

  He’d been even smaller when the druggie killed his mom and sister. Even younger.

  All these years, he’d blamed himself for not stopping the bastard, yet as he looked at Regan, at her size, he knew there was no way he could have won that fight. He’d been a child. The pain was sharp, an abscess opening and draining so it could heal.

  Folding both arms around her, he gave her a hard hug. “So, staying in school it is. I trust you to try for the middle path, yes?”

  “I will, Papá.”

  “Good. Then let’s head back. I think there’s a pizza in the freezer. Pepperoni?”

  Her delighted bounce was his reward.

  As they walked toward the Hermitage, he saw the light in Mako’s cabin. Upstairs where JJ lived.

  Someone else he wanted to keep in a nice safe space—and who had shown how she felt about it.

  He missed her, more than he’d have dreamed possible. She was working late today, but tomorrow…tomorrow it would be time to have a talk.

  Chapter Twenty

  Negotiate—and keep your weapon loaded. Otherwise, your diplomacy’ll be a doormat for some asshole’s feet. ~ First Sergeant Michael “Mako” Tyne

  * * *

  JJ scowled at the light coming from the windows. Morning, already? She hadn’t had any sleep, dammit. Again. Her bed was too cold. Too lonely. Dammit, she missed Caz more than she’d ever thought possible. The stupid, hard-headed dumbass male.

  At least she had today—Wednesday—off since she’d worked extra over the weekend. Growling under her breath, she pulled the pillow over her head and tried to go back to sleep.

  Around noon, she gave up and built a fire in the wood stove, had breakfast, then sat in the living room and worked on her crochet project—a dark red-and-black scarf for Regan.

  No matter how annoyed Caz was, he’d let Regan have the scarf. Although he might not accept the matching larger one JJ’d crocheted for him.

  Aaand, now she was grumpy again. After donning winter gear, she went out for a long hike in the snow, hoping the peace of the white-covered land would seep into her soul.

  Once back, she worked on her grocery list, adding more items so she didn’t feel as if she was the only unprepared person at the Hermitage. This survival stuff seemed to be contagious.

  In that spirit, she settled down beside the toasty-warm wood stove and watched The Martian on her laptop. Best sci-fi survivalist movie ever, right?

  Once it finished, she added potatoes to her list and was totally revved up to make a grocery run into town.

  After a quick shower, she dried off and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. There were ugly sutures in her forehead, and a red line where Caz had glued the slice over her cheekbone. At least, the swelling along her jaw had gone down; however, the bruising had turned a putrid-looking yellow-green. Ugh.

  Unexpected sympathy for the doc welled inside her. Considering her appearance now, she must’ve looked an unholy mess when she walked into his clinic.

  Avoiding the sore spots, she brushed her curly hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Bruises, gashes. Dark circles under her eyes. Sadness in the downturn of her mouth. She’d been avoiding Caz. Both him and Regan.

  Who would have thought she’d miss them so much?

  Little Regan had stolen her heart. All those giggles and courage and enthusiasm. Burning with brightness.

  And Caz. God, she missed him. He had become her best friend. No, be honest, she felt more than friendship. Some was physical. When she was near him, there was an underlying sizzle as if her body was revved up and waiting for his touch. Some was simply…caring for a man. For him. A whole lot.

  But even without the male-female stuff, she simply liked him. Liked being with him, working with him, talking to him. He was honest, kind, compassionate, and strong. He had a moral code and would stick to it.

  He’d acted like her ex, yes, but for different reasons. Nash had wanted her to quit the force because he couldn’t tolerate her being better than he was. Because he wanted to control her.

  Caz simply wanted her to be safe.

  His past had given him cause to react like that. She understood—really, she did—and it hurt to know what he’d gone through. What he’d lost.

  Yet it was pretty obvious he wasn’t going to accept who she was. What she did.

  Knowing his past and his issues wasn’t going to change her decision about what she did for a living. She wasn’t going to give up the career she loved. No one would do that to her.

  Hell, she loved the job even when she got hurt. Being a LEO was who she was.

  She was…could have fallen for him. She’d so wanted to give him what he needed to be happy. But she couldn’t. Not in this. It wasn’t fair of him to think she would.

  Dammit. Her heart ached because the truth was she needed to stay away from him.

  With a sigh, she dressed and glanced out the window. Just after five and already night. Somehow, the darkness matched her mood.

  Dante’s would only be open for a little while longer. Coat on, she grabbed her purse and the grocery list.

  Downstairs in the hallway to the garage, she heard noises from the big workout room. A glance through the doorway brought her to a halt.

  Caz was working the tall canvas punching bag that hung on chains from a ceiling beam. Punch, punch, punch, dance back, roundhouse to head height, come down solid, punch, punch, punch, sidekick to where the opponent’s knee might be. Each blow hit the bag with a solid sound she had to appreciate.

  In leggings and a T-shirt, Regan stood to one side, watching. Fascinated.

  Well, yeah.

  God, the man looked deadly. Barefoot. Black sweatpants. A black sleeveless shirt was darker across the chest and back where he’d sweated through the material. His biceps, triceps, and delts were pumped-up—and looked harder than granite.

 
Made her want to touch. Just…touch.

  He started punching the bag so fast she almost didn’t see his fists move.

  Her mouth went dry.

  From the stories Gabe had shared, he and his brothers enjoyed brawling. And they all won at various times. Gabe through technique and good strategy, the son named Hawk through sheer berserk never-give-up. Bull overpowered his opponents with size and weight.

  With Caz? Apparently, Caz was so fast and skillful his punches never missed, and his opponents rarely managed to get in a return blow. To top it off, if he got too annoyed, he’d pull a knife.

  JJ spotted his boots and sure enough, he had a knife sheathed inside each. Well, as an officer of the law, all she could say was she was glad he was on the side of good.

  Stepping away from the bag, Caz lowered his hands. “Like that, mija. Your turn.”

  As Regan took his place, Caz reached for a towel and saw JJ.

  Shit. Why was she standing in the doorway, staring like a dumbass? She took a step back and—

  “JJ.” Just the sound of her name in his oh-so-masculine voice made her stomach quiver.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “JJ!” Tearing across the room, Regan hit like a bullet and wrapped her arms around JJ. “Where’ve you been? Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”

  Oh…double-shit. Appalled, JJ looked over at Caz who seemed equally startled.

  Dammit, she’d been thoughtless to disappear without a word to Regan. Kids were always sure they were the cause of whatever disaster occurred—from being evicted to divorces to getting abused by a parent. A kid simply knew it was her fault.

  JJ bent to hug Regan hard. “I’m absolutely not mad at you, and you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  The little girl’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to make you come out in the cold to look for me or—”

  “You went to save a kitty.” JJ gave Regan another squeeze. “I’d have done the very same thing. And to hike out in the cold and the dark? That’s pretty brave in my book.”