Safe and Sound (The Safe House Series Book 3)

by Leslie North

  Being in the company of a man like Max Sterling, her life definitely didn't feel like it was on pause anymore.

  They stopped at a bakery on the property, bought two lemon poppy-seed muffins and settled at a café table beneath a striped awning. Sometimes his eyes crinkled when he looked at her; sometimes they cast downward, to her lips, as she spoke. Both kept him present in the moment. She supposed attentiveness was a necessity in his job.

  “What would you do without any responsibilities?” asked Max.

  “No students? No job?”

  “No Eugenia. No overbearing brother. For one day.”

  This. Right here. With you.

  “Jump out of a plane.”

  Max choked on a bite of muffin. “What?”

  Immediately, she regretted her confession. Good thing she hadn’t articulated her burlesque dancing fantasy like her Nona.

  “It’s silly. I know.”

  “No—no, it’s not. It’s great. I just never would have guessed.”

  “Have you done it? In the Army?”

  “A handful of times.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Oh, no. You won’t live this one vicariously through me. This one you’ll do for yourself.”

  “In a world with no responsibilities. Which isn’t going to happen.”

  “Responsible doesn’t mean lifeless, Lola.”

  “One detail. Pleeeease? Something to hold onto.”

  “It’s loud. Time stands still in those final breaths when you’re leaning out and the cold wind rushes your face. Those first few seconds of free fall? Sensory overload.”

  “Like sex?”

  He toppled the remainder of his muffin on the table. A smirk raced a flush for advantage on his handsome features. “Not exactly.”

  “Like mind-blowing sex?”

  “Close, I suppose.”

  “I’m going to do it.”

  “Mind-blowing sex?”

  Her turn to blush. Max had just picked the remainder of his muffin off the table when she punched his firm bicep, sending the pastry toppling again, this time on the ground. An opportunistic gray wren carried the bulk of it away.

  Max’s good-natured laugh eased the discomfort of their earlier steps.

  She pushed her barely-touched muffin toward him. “Here. Eat this one. I don’t need it.”

  “You’ve barely eaten anything since the safe house.”

  “My first-graders count blocks. I count calories.”

  Max’s expression sobered. He reached for her hand and tapped it twice on the iron table until she raised her eyes to meet his.

  “You’re exquisite, Lola. Everything about you. Everything. Don’t believe anyone who tells you different.”

  Her throat went dry, from the cake, from her father’s words that played like broken reels in her mind—no man will ever want Lola with that body. Where was this tender man yesterday? Where was he nine years and two ill-advised relationships ago?

  “Let’s walk.” Max cleared the debris from the table and held his hand out for her to take.

  As much as she wanted to hold onto his hand long after she stood, she respected the boundaries he had set. You can trust that I won't touch you again.

  The lush, flower-lined walkway leading away from the bakery took a turn toward the coastal waters and the guest docks. Blue Moon had been built on a private, five hundred-acre peninsula that catered exclusively to the social engagements of the top one percent. Every jog in the path offered a picturesque backdrop of waterfalls or gazebos or English gardens trimmed with military precision. They gravitated down the property’s natural slope to the water, the effortlessness of their earlier banter still present.

  “Why don’t you like Baudin?”

  "He's a trained killer. There's nothing else to know."

  His response made her feel a little ridiculous for asking.

  "He seems to be a religious man."

  "Yeah." Max's eyes narrowed, almost a squint, nothing at all to do with the non-existent sun. In fact, the sky rolled as turbulent as the subject matter. He glanced back toward the resort but made no move to return. "Yeah, I don't like that either."

  "Can you tell me anything about him?"

  "He worked almost exclusively for a man named Miller Freeman, a mob boss with deep ties to a drug cartel out of Nicaragua, until recently he decided he didn't. Freeman got himself arrested. Baudin turned himself in a day later. Said he wanted to atone for his sins by helping take Freeman down."

  "Miller Freeman…" Lola tried to remember back through past news cycles. "Should I know him? The name sounds familiar."

  "Not likely," said Max. "High-profile crimes are usually committed by low-profile people. Baudin, for instance."

  “What’s the charge against Freeman?”

  “What isn’t the charge against Freeman? You name it, he’s done it. Our friend back at the hotel isn't the only one testifying. There are other witnesses in the case: a police officer, couple ex-wives, a federal marshal."

  Thunder rumbled low. Sprinkles splashed cold on her bare forearms. She glanced up. A greenish-gray hue dominated the sky. “Shoot.”

  “Just once, I’d like to hear you swear.”

  “I spend most of my day around six year olds. Their parents would run me out of town if I sent them home with anything more indecent than a hand turkey.”

  “We’re not with six year olds now. Go on. One good f-bomb.”

  “No.” Her voice pitched high, incredulous. Lola smiled and pretended the request affronted her sensibilities. In reality, it was Nona’s fault. A songbird is known for her notes, so too is a lady by her words.

  At her weak protest, the sky opened. Max’s posture hunched against the onslaught of rain. He scanned their surroundings then grabbed her hand.

  “Come on.”

  They ran toward the closest structure—a boathouse at the far end of the dock. Had her students been here to sing-song a very shaky count to ten, they would have made it only to a jumbled seven and six before Lola was soaked, crown to feet, dress to underwear. Max tugged on the boathouse’s entrance handle. The weathered door refused to budge.

  Max took her slippery hand in his once more. They circled the boathouse perimeter, careful to hug close to the tin roof overhang that seemed to block some of the torrent. He tried two other doors before one slipped loose in his hand.

  They entered a secondary addition to the boathouse, one used to store kayaks and canoes and all manner of sports water equipment. Across the longest wall hung life jackets organized by size on hooks. At the shortest side of the space, no larger than the room Max and Lola shared, sat a rental desk. A wet pine smell clung to the salty air.

  A fierce shiver crashed over Lola, toes to shoulders. She wrung the water from her hair and blew hot exhales into her steepled hands. Though it was late into a coastal spring, humidity did not hold warmth over the rain-soaked air.

  Max pulled her into his embrace. Despite his saturated shirt, she folded against his chest, greedily soaking up his body heat from all sides.

  “We have to get you dry and warm.”

  He led her to a rough-hewn bench crafted of logs beneath an activity sign-up board and replaced his warmth with a few life vests strewn haphazardly around the room. They were stiff and block-like and not Max. Lola decided she much preferred moving around the space and helping him in his search.

  The rental office shared a roof with the boathouse. Frog-strangling rain pounded the tin planks overhead. The noise was, quite possibly, the only racket to rival a classroom of first graders during a field day relay race.

  Lola checked the rental desk. On shelves beneath the graffiti-carved wooden counter, she found a balled-up beach towel, a wrapped cricket-infused protein bar—Ew—a turquoise Blue Moon staff shirt too small for her to sausage her boobs into, and a mismatched pair of old sneakers.

  Max fared better with the unit of rental lockers. A pair of men’s cargo shorts and a ladies swimsuit cover up, more sh
eer and netting than any real cover, but it was dry and inviting.

  She laid the ground rules. “No peeking.”

  “Really? After last night?”

  “No peeking,” she reiterated.

  “Fine.” His tone was placating, just this side of amused.

  They turned their backs to each other. She stripped out of her wet dress and donned the swimsuit cover like the tinder around them had reached an inferno and the only solution was to wring her dress over the flames. He moved more slowly, casually removing every last stitch of clothing before stepping into the dry shorts.

  She knew because she peeked.

  Sweet McGinger hottie did she ever.

  Lola told herself she stole a glance because trust had been a thing for them. A non-thing, actually. How could she be sure he kept his word unless she supervised him? Not once did he turn around. The perfect gentleman. Guilt weighed on her shoulders like a soaked lifejacket, soon replaced by a force as powerful as the first wave in a tsunami: Max Sterling’s buff backside—glorious red hair to heels. Nothing but skin and ass dimples that chiseled glutes and muscles for days. Weeks. Years.

  “Like the view?”

  Her gaze shifted, albeit reluctantly, first to his gleaming white grin then to his pointer finger. A full-length mirror hung from the side wall at a perfect angle to catch her betrayal red-handed. He took his sweet, leisurely time yanking the khaki fabric over his butt, commando-style. And laughing.

  Wait…

  Mirrors reflected both ways.

  She turned to him, fully sheathed but feeling completely exposed. “You saw—”

  “No more than you willingly showed me yesterday.”

  “Truth?”

  “No. I saw everything.”

  Blood rushed to her face. Had she not dried her face against the material before slipping it over her head, the droplets would have steamed off her cheeks like a teakettle on full scream. She wanted to crawl inside the nearest kayak, face down.

  “Hey,” he said, loud enough to overcome the rain. He took her hands in his and tugged her closer. “I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry.”

  Lola stared at his chest, lost in the contour of a particularly impressive pectoral muscle. Her breasts would have hung heavy, and she might have pulled in her stomach had she known. His body was so perfect in every conceivable way. She was still that fifteen-year-old girl who saw only imperfections.

  “Look at me.”

  She couldn’t. So he raised his wide, firm hand beneath her chin and tipped her gaze higher, higher, until she had no choice but to meet his warm gaze.

  “The only thing stopping me from doing more than just peeking—way more—is my word last night. I am nothing without my word.”

  His thumb grazed her chin, a small hot sun against her already-scorching face. He pulled her into his arms. She couldn’t decide if he meant his embrace to soften the blow of not making love to her or because he wasn’t yet ready to let her go. When he released her and announced he was going to look for something to warm them, she knew his hug had been all about raising her body temperature. Nothing more.

  He disappeared into the equipment room. She crawled inside a canoe that had been left on the cement floor and pulled her knees to her chest. For the first time in hours, it occurred to her she could have run away. A hundred times she had viable opportunity to escape. But he had asked her what she would do, without any responsibilities, and her mind had reached a resounding conclusion, over and over again. She would spend more time in his company, in whatever form that took. He made her feel independent, free, protected.

  Desired.

  Despite her flaws, his hot gaze had returned to her time and time again. Was it possible that Nona had been right? That some men desire more than skin wrapped around bone? Lola had always thought Nona’s idea of beauty had been antiquated—fashioned in a decade of fuller-figured pinups and a healthier body image. Was it possible Max honestly found her beautiful?

  The heady thought warmed her far more than anything Max could scavenge in the storage room. She lifted her face to the exposed metal roof, let the rain’s steady cadence wash over her senses, and inhaled the earthy, fragrant air.

  “I found a blanket between the...” Max reentered the space. His ambitious pace stalled in a devastatingly handsome grin. “Your next adventure? First skydiving, now boating?”

  She answered his smile with one of her own. “The cement was cold and wet.”

  “May I join you?”

  “That depends. Do you have any nautical training?”

  “Just basic training, slogging through mud. Oh, and a jet ski on leave in Florida once.”

  “Hmm…” She pretended to consider, squeezing him in her sight before her body staged a mutiny at the possibility of her turning Max and his body heat away. “I’ll allow it. But just this once.”

  Lola thought he might claim one of the two higher bench seats. Instead, Max climbed behind her and settled low in the boat’s hull, her back to his front. He stretched his long legs on either side of hers. His blanket-draped arms looped around her raised knees, completely enveloping her in his warmth.

  “Better?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak so she nodded. By inches, he shifted forward, presumably to settle his back against the boat’s seat—an almost imperceptible recline had his groin not pressed firm against the thin fabric tucked beneath her bare buttocks. She needed a topic to distract her from the gathering wetness in the dry dock between her legs.

  “You never told me what you would do.” Lola rested her head against his shoulder to relieve the pressure in her neck of imposing space between them. “One day, anything you want.”

  “What I want is impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible.”

  “I want the people back I’ve lost. My parents, my sister, my brothers in combat who never made it home. One day, all together.”

  She wanted to bite back the impossible comment. Sometimes her optimism sounded juvenile, even to her ears.

  “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t realize. Do you have any family?”

  “Some extended in Seattle. I haven’t seen them since I was a kid.”

  “Your fellow soldiers must be very important to you, then.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The photos in your bedroom.”

  “Too many years ago to count.”

  “What about childhood friends?”

  “We didn’t exactly take the same path. My parents threw me in basic. My friends ended up in jail or dead.”

  The landscape of Max’s life came into sharper relief. With no family or friends, with colleagues spread all over the country on individual security detail, men like Baudin became his only companionship. Inside her chest, a storm of sadness drizzled gray, heavy. Still, a part of the picture remained fuzzy.

  “What about girlfriends? Lovers?”

  “A few here and there. None for a long time. My duty doesn’t mix well with a social life. It’s dangerous, and I don’t want anyone to hurt for me the way I feel loss.”

  Max’s full picture emerged with startling clarity. He hid behind his duty, kept his emotional distance, cleared himself from every responsibility but the one person under his watch in his pursuit of justice. But where was the justice in being alone?

  She turned her head toward the hollow space between his jaw and collarbone. He hadn’t shaved since their escape from the safe house. The onset of his auburn beard begged for her touch. She resisted. He believed he was nothing without his word. She wouldn’t be the one to breech that barrier again.

  “Everybody needs someone, Max.” She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Even if it’s just one day.”

  His lids closed slowly as if a great battle brewed inside and he wanted her to see no part of it through the window of his eyes. She marveled at his lashes—blondish-red, as thick as his hair, almost delicate when juxtaposed against the hulking strength surrounding her.

  Lola kn
ew what she was offering, what she was giving. One day, no more. When this adventure was over, she would return to her life of runny noses and tattletales and crossword puzzles with her eighty-year old landlady, and Max would sequester himself away from the world again with the next Baudin, her life to never again cross Max’s life. She supposed there was enough freedom in that for them both.

  The rain eased.

  He swallowed thickly. His steel-cut stare at the distant wall appeared his final stronghold. “I don’t know who I am without duty.”

  “Maybe it’s time to find out.”

  Still, he hesitated.

  “It’s okay, Max,” she whispered, her lips close enough to his earlobe to kiss. This time she didn’t resist the temptation. “I release you from your promise.”

  Tension from his body released on a gusty exhale. His arms squeezed her in a hold charged with gratitude, relief. And at the tail end of it all, the vibration of a chuckle at her back.

  She twisted slightly. “What?”

  “Baudin knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “He gave me a condom this morning.”

  “I guess that does make me the lucky prisoner.” She meant it as a joke, but the casual lines around Max’s mouth fell.

  “You’re not a prisoner, Lola. If you want to step out of this boat and walk out that door, I won’t stop you.”

  Freedom. Precisely what she had wanted since she crashed into Max’s treacherous world. She unraveled herself from his embrace and climbed out of the boat. Without words, without explanation, she moved toward the door. One backward glance at Max, his eyes mournful, his lips a hard, downward line, nearly shattered her heart. Freedom was precisely what she had wanted since she met Max, but it was the absolute last thing she wanted now.

  Lola reached for an oar tipped on its end beside the door and threaded its length through the double doors’ battered iron handles, effectively locking out duty, responsibilities, the world, every last barrier between them. She bit her bottom lip, her stomach alight like fireflies swarming in a jar, and turned around in time to see a sexy smile completely transform Max Sterling’s face.