Protective Operation

by Danica Winters

  Shaye took a look over at Chad, who had started to snore. She should stay with him, take care of him throughout the night and ice his bruises. And yet, if she stayed here with him, she feared what could come of it. If he woke up and saw her taking care of him, the sexual tension that already pulsed between them would intensify. And if he asked her why she had stayed, she would have to tell him the truth—that she cared about him, that he was the only person she had wanted to run to and when she had been all alone, he was the man who had consumed her every thought. And it was this, all this attraction, that made it impossible. They couldn’t be.

  Chapter Four

  One drink had been a mistake, but the sixth had been beyond absurd. Chad groaned as he rolled over in the bed and found his feet. He recalled Kash’s fist, the sound it made when it crushed against his face and the copper taste of his blood mixing with the whiskey he’d been drinking before the fight.

  And he remembered Shaye. Her turning and seeing him. The light in her face as she caught his eye. And the excitement he felt when he realized it was really her standing before him.

  And then he had gone and made an absolute fool of himself.

  He had to get to her. Explain what had really happened. Explain everything so he didn’t look like a blithering, drunken idiot. He wasn’t that guy. No, and hopefully Shaye knew it.

  He stood up, but as he made his way to the mirror, the world swayed and pitched under his feet. Drinking wasn’t a solution, he knew. And he made a mental note to stop using it as a crutch—but damn, last night... Seeing Kash and Shaye. Watching the world bounce around him like it was nothing but a party... In the last year he’d lost his sister, gotten wrapped up in a kidnapping plot and seen more than his fair share of people die, even for his profession. And yet, people were out there dancing like it never happened.

  It had been overwhelming—that level of oblivion.

  If only he could go back in time and do things over. Raj would be alive, Trish would be alive and his family wouldn’t be at the top of everyone’s goddamn hit list.

  They would go back to the shadows, doing a job where all they had to worry about was the task at hand and the targets that needed neutralizing—a world where they themselves weren’t the targets.

  He ran his hands over his face, and after doing a quick breath check, he found a trip to the restroom to be in order. As he walked in to the bathroom, he sniffed his shirt—it smelled like the barn mixed with the pungent sweetness of cheap liquor. Yeah, the schnapps at the end there had probably been the kicker he really hadn’t needed. And yet, perhaps it was the elixir that had helped him take an uppercut to the face, one that had effectively ended his night.

  He glanced around the foreign bathroom. There was a collection of toothbrushes in the stand by the sink. For a split second, he considered using one of them, but he stopped himself. This wasn’t Camp You-Got-Nothing. Instead, he opened up the linen closet and extracted a new one that was still in the box.

  As he caught sight of himself, he couldn’t help but notice the welt on his cheek. Luckily, his eye wasn’t too black and blue, but there was a faint purple line where Kash must have been wearing a ring. If nothing else, at least the guy packed a mediocre punch—if it had been someone else swinging, it was likely he would have found himself with a broken nose and a pair of raccoon eyes to match.

  After a quick freshening up and brushing of his pearly whites, he stuffed his newly acquired purple toothbrush into his pocket. Aunt Eloise wouldn’t mind him taking home a souvenir—it would be nice to have some daily reminder of the ass-kicking he had received. If nothing else, maybe it would help him make decisions that kept him between the lines.

  He chuckled as he left the room. He and Trish used to always say that they needed to keep their lives like sandwiches—keep their asses between the mustard and the mayonnaise and out of trouble. Damn, he missed her.

  He made his way toward the sound of voices wafting out of the kitchen along with the smoky scent of bacon. A woman was giggling, the sound so high that he wondered if it was the sound of someone truly enjoying themselves or if they were forcing themselves to laugh. Either way, the sound rang in his ears like empty cans dragged behind a beat-up car.

  Tylenol. He needed Tylenol.

  He opened the kitchen door and saw Shaye and Kash sitting at the antique wood table. He stopped and just stood there, unsure of how exactly he should proceed.

  What in the hell had happened after he had left the party last night?

  Shaye looked up at him and her face flushed. “Oh, hey. Good morning.” She rushed to stand up and she made her way over to the frying pan, which was sizzling away on the stove. “We were just having eggs—want some?” She grabbed a plate out of the cupboard as if she had lived in the house for a million years, and not simply showed up on the doorstep last night.

  “Uh, no.” His stomach growled in protest of his refusal. “I—I was just going to get a cup of coffee and then head out.”

  Kash started to turn, like he was considering whether or not he wanted to face him, but he stopped. Instead he lifted his coffee cup in acknowledgment of all the things that could, should and likely wouldn’t be said.

  “Kash,” Chad said, the man’s name barely audible thanks to the embarrassment that weighed it down.

  Shaye grabbed a travel mug and sloshed a bit of coffee on the counter as she poured.

  At least he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

  There was only one way to handle this situation.

  He tried to think of something funny to say, but only one joke—the joke he’d learned for Anya, his niece who had Down syndrome—came to mind. “Why did the cowboy adopt a wiener dog?”

  Shaye groaned, but he could see her relax as she handed him his cup. “Why?” she said, a smile peeking out on the corner of her lips.

  “Because he wanted to get a long little doggie.” He chuckled at his own inanity, and his feeble attempt to mollify the man whose sister he owed more than a simple apology.

  Kash chuffed, but Chad didn’t doubt that he was probably storing it away to tell his little cousins later.

  Shaye arched an eyebrow and chuckled. “Seriously? That was awful.”

  “But I made you laugh. Job done.” He tipped his head and made to leave the kitchen and the two of them. He didn’t know what he had walked into this morning, but a few eggs and a cup of coffee wasn’t enough for him to ignore his feeling of not being welcome.

  “Wait,” Shaye called after him.

  She said something to Kash, but he couldn’t quite make out her words from the other side of the door.

  The door swung shut behind her as she made her way out to him. She grabbed her coat and purse, which were sitting beside the front door, then dangled a set of keys in front of him. “Zoey asked me to drive you home when you got up.” She pointed to the parking area, where his white pickup sat waiting for them.

  He ran his hands down the back of his neck and stretched out his chest, as if doing so would rid him of all the pent-up anxiety he was feeling. Unfortunately, it failed to do the trick.

  He nodded, following her outside and getting into the truck without a word, though he had a bevy of questions about last night running through his mind. First and foremost, why were Shaye and Kash buddied up this morning?

  And yet, he couldn’t find an excuse that would give him a reason to ask her anything about it. He was already on thin ice, and he had no doubt that if he kept pressing her, Shaye would undoubtedly crack and he would lose having her in his life forever. It was best if they stuck together—they both needed a friend. He couldn’t give her much, but he could give her a sense of safety if nothing else—it had been his job for a long time now, and it was the only thing he was half good at...usually.

  He gave her directions as they made their way toward the Widow Maker Ranch. The nearer they got, the stronger the gna
wing in his gut became. Though he had gotten out of Dunrovin with little fanfare and a crappy joke, he wasn’t sure his family would forgive him quite so easily. Zoey was probably chomping at the bit to lay into him for making a scene. She had told him to keep himself in check, that they were there for the Fitzgeralds and to make it a seamless event.

  He’d never been good at taking directions.

  The snow had started to melt on the roads, and as they crested the hill that led to the house, the black gelding, Sergeant, greeted them with the throw of his head and a whinny he could hear even over the rattling of the truck’s tired cylinders.

  “Looks like someone is glad you are home,” Shaye said, a tiny lilt to her words from her boarding-school upbringing.

  “At least there is one,” he said, half under his breath.

  She gave him a look as though she was considering saying something to contradict him, but instead a muscle twitched in her cheek as she clenched her mouth shut.

  What would she have said?

  Unlike at Dunrovin, their house wasn’t bustling with the sounds of morning when they walked in. Instead, they were met with the stench of overflowing garbage cans and dirty dishes. If Shaye was going to be here for any amount of time, he was going to have to get everyone on board with making more of an effort. Their life was a major contrast to her palatial estate. They really did need a housekeeper.

  “You sure they said they were coming home?” Chad asked, dumping the keys for the truck on the table near the door.

  Shaye shrugged, then took off her coat and placed it over her purse on the table beside his keys.

  Zoey’s car was in the driveway, the tires free from snow or slush, so she hadn’t gone anywhere lately. “Zoey?” he called, half hoping that she wouldn’t answer.

  It was quiet.

  The back door slammed. Out of instinct, Chad put his finger up to his lips to shush Shaye and he moved in front of her. He could hear her breathing, faster than normal, behind him.

  No harm could come to her. Not under his watch.

  He tried to tell himself that the door slamming was only Zoey coming inside, but nothing felt right. He moved toward the back of the house and the kitchen. From just behind the door, he could hear the sounds of Zoey cursing and he relaxed; if she was sounding like a sailor, everything was fine. It was when Zoey was silent that he needed to worry. He stood up a bit straighter and cleared his throat.

  “Is everything okay?” Shaye asked.

  He sent her a comforting smile. “Yeah, it’s gonna be fine.” He turned back. “Zoey, everything okay?”

  She came storming out of the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a towel and her mascara running down her face. “So, you made it home? Good,” she said, the words all nearly in the same breath. “The damn water heater went out. I went down to the mechanical room to see if I could figure the stupid thing out, and as wonderful as YouTube tutorials are... Yeah, we are going to have to call a plumber.”

  “You got something just there,” Chad said, pointing to a blob of black streaking down under her left eye.

  “Thank you, smarty-pants. I’m aware.” She ran her hand under her eye, but instead of wiping it away it only made the inky mess worse, as she smeared it over her cheek and almost to her nose.

  He bit his tongue. As fun as it was to harass his sister, the glare she was giving him right now said it wasn’t time to tease—a cold shower had that effect on people.

  “I’ll go take a look at it, see what I can do,” he said, though he was abundantly aware that plumbing wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse. “Shaye, do you mind hanging out with the banshee... I mean Zoey, while I go down in the crawl space and check things out?”

  “No, that’s fine,” Shaye said, stepping over to Zoey. “And, hey, I think I have makeup remover.” She got her purse as Chad headed to the mechanical room.

  He could only imagine what Zoey and Shaye would talk about while he was out of earshot. He had a better chance of making it out unscathed from a battle with the broken water heater. Hopefully Zoey would set her straight about Kayla. After what had happened last night, no amount of apologies or insisting that it was all a misunderstanding would help him. People were going to think what they were going to think.

  The heavy wooden door leading to the mechanical room had been swept clear of snow by the wind, and as he moved to lift the cellar-type door, it groaned loudly in protest, as though it wanted him there as little as he wanted to be there.

  The wooden stairs creaked as he made his way down to the crawl space. The sump pump kicked on, sending a blast of mold-scented air in his direction. Of all the things that had failed, it was a wonder the sump pump hadn’t gone first. With its black cast-iron parts and rusted joints, it looked like it belonged in the early 1900s rather than the current century. If they continued to live here, no doubt he would be back down here a hundred more times fooling around with all the things that could, and probably would, break down.

  All the glories of homeownership.

  The thought of domesticated life made his entire body clench. There was a lot to be said for being the kind who was always on the road. He definitely missed parts of his old life. Maybe, once things died down with Bayural and his henchmen within the Gray Wolves organization, he could go back to living out of a suitcase, taking assignments and getting reacquainted with his firearms. He looked down at his palms. The calluses he had built up over years spent at the firing range had started to diminish. With their disappearance came a surprising sadness.

  He tried to shake off the feeling. Feelings were ludicrous. They were nonsensical, and rarely actually did any good. In his experience, feelings were a temporary problem that, if allowed to seep into his consciousness, always led to disaster. If he pushed them down, and just dealt with them on a need-by-need basis, he would be far more successful in keeping the disasters to a minimum.

  And yet, here he was feeling all the things he really didn’t want to feel.

  On the topic of irrational fantasies, he had no idea what he was going to do about the situation with Shaye. On the one hand, he was so glad she was here so they could run away from their problems together, but at the same time her presence made him incredibly nervous. Whenever she was close to him, tension seemed to vibrate in the space between them. He wasn’t quite sure what was causing it, or if he should even acknowledge the fleeting sensation. Maybe it was nothing more than his own mind playing tricks on him. If she was feeling in any way uncomfortable, no doubt she would’ve said something to him by now.

  She wasn’t the type who was going to sit by and be quiet about anything. When she felt that there were things that needed to be said, she definitely didn’t hesitate to speak her mind.

  She was a round peg in a square world. And he had always been a square peg in a round world, never taking things as seriously as he should have, or doing exactly what he had been ordered to.

  The water heater was a silent sentinel standing at the center of the room. He opened up the side panel and peered inside. It was a collection of wires, circuit boards and thermostats. As he stared inside, footsteps moved on the floor above him. The women stopped walking, and as they shifted their weight, the floorboards creaked ever so slightly. As their movements stopped, he could make out the sound of his sister’s voice.

  “He’s still hurting,” Zoey said.

  He didn’t know if he should knock on the floor above him to let them know he could hear them talking, or if he should just shut up, listen and learn what his sister really thought about him.

  “Aside from last night’s performance, he’s seemed okay around me,” Shaye said. “In fact, he seems to be his normal joking self.”

  Zoey mumbled something and Shaye laughed—no doubt it was some comment on his character, but he didn’t really mind. It was better to be laughed at and mocked than the target of everyone else’s wrath. Being the family jeste
r was far easier than being the family monolith.

  “Losing Trish was hard on him. And I think being back here is making it a little harder on him,” Zoey continued. “Being with you, and away from the family, he didn’t have to face the loss every day.”

  “Do you think I should convince him to leave? I’m sure he and I can disappear, be safe,” Shaye said.

  There was the creak of the floorboards as Zoey must have walked toward the kitchen sink. “One thing you will come to learn about our family is that we are fiercely loyal creatures. We aren’t like most families, who scatter their children like seeds. We have learned, through entirely too much pain and loss, that when we are divided, we are at our weakest.”

  Chad inwardly groaned. Zoey needed to be quiet. Shaye was already hurting, she didn’t need Zoey rubbing their strong family unit in her face...not when Shaye had just walked away from the family, the country and the people with whom she had spent most of her life. Zoey’s words had to be a knife piercing Shaye’s already shattered heart.

  He grabbed a broom that was sitting by the door and moved to bang it on the ceiling of the mechanical room, but as he moved, Shaye spoke up.

  “If you’re worried about me taking him away from you, from this place, or from your team, you needn’t be. I’m just offering him safe passage to wherever he needs to go, if he needs to seek refuge. I have no intention for anything more than that.” Shaye paused and Chad lowered the broom. “Chad is a friend. A good friend. I won’t deny it. But there is nothing else that could ever happen between us.”

  The broom slipped from his fingers and it clattered on the concrete floor, announcing his presence.

  Zoey called down to him, quietly at first, but then louder.

  He pretended not to hear, and instead slammed the metal panel shut and made his way out of the belly of the beast. Zoey had been right—he must be hurting. There was no other excuse for the way anger burst inside him at Shaye’s words.