The Asset

by Anna del Mar

  “You know Krav Maga?”

  “Expert level,” he said. “Don’t react, attack with the end in mind and anticipate your opponent’s range of responses. Try it. Feet apart, feel the earth beneath your feet.”

  I landed a solid punch on the bag, which didn’t move this time around. A jolt shot up my arm. “Ow.” I grimaced and shook off the pain.

  “Contact means pain,” Ash said. “It’s a lesson you have to embrace. Your opponent is constructed of bones and muscles. He’ll be bigger than you, and stronger too, which is why you have to be faster and smarter if you’re going to win the fight.”

  He went through the basic combinations, teaching me how to turn my elbows, knees and heels into weapons and where a hit could make the biggest difference.

  “Go for the body’s vulnerable spots,” he said. “Eyes, throat, face, groin, feet, toes. Show me a hair grab escape.” He watched me critically. “Not bad, but you need to build speed, range of movement and endurance.”

  “I just need to be able to defend myself.”

  “The most effective defense is an intelligent attack,” he said, “and the most effective attack is the one that disables your opponent fast and for good. Why are you so keen to learn to fight anyway?”

  “No questions,” I said. “Remember?”

  “You’re a gutsy gal with lots of brainpower.” He challenged me with a smirk. “Why are you afraid?”

  “Is that how you want it?” I front-kicked the punching bag. “What were you doing in Afghanistan when you got wounded?”

  He absorbed the energy of the hit without so much as a grunt. “That’s classified information,” he said. “Why is it that you don’t like questions at all?”

  “For your own good, that’s classified too.”

  “Come on, Lia.” His eyes darkened. “Tell me the truth.”

  “The truth?” I stepped away from the bag and wiped the sweat off my brow. “Okay, I’ll give you the truth. The truth kills, Ash, it kills with astonishing regularity. So be happy that you don’t know anything about it, and heal fast. The sooner you get away from me, the safer you’ll be.”

  Chapter Five

  I paced the end of the old dock with my cell glued to my ear, grateful that I had reception. Otherwise, I might have had to spend the entire glorious day indoors trying to get my job done. On the lakeshore, I spotted Neil trotting toward me with a giant stick held fast between his jaws. Ash followed, maneuvering his crutches onto the dock’s creaking boards, face set into straight lines. I hated it when he was in pain. I waved at him, greeted the sweet German shepherd with a side hug and returned my attention to the phone call in progress.

  “What do you mean four months?” I said.

  “Major Hunter is not registered as critical,” the bureaucrat on the other side of the line said. “It’s the best we can do.”

  “Major Hunter may not be classified as critical, but he’s in pain,” I said. “He needs to be seen right away.”

  “Hey.” Ash set his crutches aside, lowered himself to sit on the dock and swung his legs over the edge. “What’s up?”

  “VA,” I mouthed.

  He waved his hand dismissively and, after prying the stick from Neil’s jaws, flung it far on the beach. Neil took off like a rocket after the stick.

  “A four-month wait is not reasonable,” I told the woman on the phone. “These are our country’s heroes, surely there’s something you can do.”

  “Maybe I can fit him into one of the waiting lists,” the woman said.

  “I don’t want him on a waiting list,” I said. “I want him on an appointment list.”

  “No need to get prissy.”

  “I’m not prissy,” I said. “What do I have to do to get my boyfriend out of pain?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Don’t you dare...”

  “Goodbye,” the woman said. “And thank you for calling Veterans Affairs.”

  The line went dead. I groaned in frustration. Neil, who’d just returned from fetching his stick, dropped it on Ash’s lap and yapped.

  “You tell ’em boy.” I plopped down next to Ash.

  “Man,” Ash said. “You’re fierce on the phone, maybe even a little scary.”

  “But it didn’t get me anywhere.” I huffed in frustration.

  “I can make my own appointments.” Ash hurled the stick for Neil again. “You work hard enough as it is and I can afford to see a private doctor if I need to. Besides, there are other guys out there that need those appointments more than I do.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but nobody should have to put up with this crap. Wait a minute.” I had an idea. I sifted through my notes, found the number I needed and, after dialing, waited as the line rang.

  “How about a picnic?” Ash unzipped his backpack, pulled out a Tupperware container and, popping off the top, offered me a perfectly layered, crust-free, peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  “Oh.” I was a little tempted. “I don’t want to eat you out of your food.”

  “Two slices of bread, how’s that going to make a dent?” He pressed the sandwich into my hand. “Besides, you went and got the bread and the peanut butter from the convenience store.” He picked another sandwich and bit into it. “Call it a service fee.”

  The cell clicked and a voice came on the line. “Watkins.”

  “Lia Stuart here,” I said. “I need a favor.”

  “Is Major Hunter misbehaving?”

  “Only occasionally.” I smirked at him.

  Ash grinned, then his tongue slid over his lips, licking the excess peanut butter from the corners of his mouth. He might as well have licked my brain clean of thoughts. And the heat between my legs...for all I knew, his tongue had visited there, as well. Why was he looking at me like that? Dear God. When had I turned into a wanton freak of nature?

  “Ms. Stuart?” The gunny cleared her throat. “And the reason for your call is?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” I pushed the shameless thoughts out of my malfunctioning brain. “I’ve been trying to get those appointments on your list for days now. I’m getting nowhere.”

  She grumbled under her breath with familiar frustration. “I’ll call you right back.” She hung up.

  “Ha!” I smiled. “Now they’re going to get an earful.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ash said. “I have a feeling you’re about to terrorize those bureaucrats.”

  “Do you know what they’re going to get?” I clawed my fingers, gnashed my teeth and lowered my voice into a spectral bass. “The wrath of Gunny Watkins.”

  Ash burst into his contagious laughter. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  I growled. “I’m as dangerous as Godzilla.”

  “You are pretty formidable,” he said, laughing some more. “I like that about you. You’re funny too. Neil and I, we’re not into people these days, but we like hanging out with you.”

  My skin flushed under his scrutiny. He liked being with me. If he only knew how much I enjoyed coming home every night to lit windows and waking up to the sounds of his jarring workout playlist. I enjoyed having someone to talk to, even if I did most of the talking and he did most of the listening.

  During the past two weeks, we’d fallen into an easy routine: breakfast together, chores, long morning walks to enhance Ash’s recovery and Krav Maga training for me. It wasn’t all nice all the time. Sometimes he struggled with his temper. Other times, he could be moody or infuriatingly stubborn. Once he made up his mind, there was no reasoning with him. Moving Mount Everest would’ve been easier than changing his mind any day. But Mount Everest aside, he was honest, straightforward and intelligent.

  The smarter part of me knew that this was a temporary situation. I needed to heal him and move him
out of my life as soon as possible. The balance of my emotions, those inexplicable pangs of madness that hit me unexpectedly—like at this very moment, when he licked the jelly off his fingertips—those were forced aside and ignored, although they tended to ambush me in my dreams.

  Neil returned with his stick and plopped down next to Ash, fur wet, chest heaving, tongue hanging. Ash praised the dog and scratched his belly, smiling with the kind of affection that would reassure any and all of God’s creatures on earth.

  “Neil was worried that you didn’t think he carried his weight around here,” Ash said.

  “Oh, please.” I reached over and scratched Neil’s soft under chin. “Neil is an awesome guard dog.”

  Ash wasn’t bad to have around either. He kept busy with projects around the cottage—fixing the fences, tweaking the plumbing, repairing the barn, rewiring the microwave, shuffling on his crutches around the lake with Neil at his heels. On patrol, as he liked to say.

  “There, buddy,” Ash said to the dog. “Does that make you feel any better?”

  Neil barked, a light, happy woof.

  “Without a doubt,” I said. “You’re the most handsome dog I’ve ever met.”

  “Did you hear that, boy?” Ash said. “She likes you.” He took out two milk boxes from his backpack, fitted the straws into them and offered one to me. “Why don’t you have a dog?”

  “Oh, well, I... I had one. Once. A little dog. His name was Pepe. It was a long time ago. He died.”

  “Sorry.” Ash drew on his milk quietly.

  I nibbled on my sandwich and sipped on my milk box, fighting off the memories. The sound of yelping filled my head, my little Pepe dying a gruesome death because I made a mistake. Steady. Cope. Breathe. I had to force the awful sounds out of my head.

  “You okay?” Ash said. “You got real quiet there all of the sudden.”

  “I’m fine.” No flashbacks allowed.

  I concentrated on the present. I made myself take a bite of the sandwich and then another. Focus on the positive. That’s how I made it from one day to the next. The food settled well in my stomach and reminded me that eating regular meals was a healthy habit I’d forsaken too many times in my life. This moment was nice, sitting on the dock under the sun with Ash and Neil, taking in the osprey’s acrobatic flights over the lake.

  Neil barked when one of the birds grabbed a fish nearby.

  “Go on, boy,” Ash said. “You’ve worked hard today. You can take your break now. Twenty minutes of just being a dog and then you’re back. But remember, no porcupines.”

  Neil barked again and trotted off as if he’d understood every single word that Ash had said. I was pretty sure that there were no porcupines in his near future.

  “He’s also got to be the smartest dog I’ve ever met,” I said.

  “Kind of like his owner?” Ash flashed me a goofy smile.

  “A bit more modest.”

  Ash laughed, but the smile wilted quickly on his face. His eyes darkened and he winced as he dug his fist in his thigh.

  “Hurting?” I said.

  “Not much.”

  In Ash-speak, that meant he was hurting like hell.

  “Do you want me to run to the cottage and get you some meds?”

  “You know how I feel about all that junk.”

  God, he was stubborn. His appointment could still be weeks away. “Maybe I can help.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe I could try to stretch the leg muscles.”

  “Have you done it before?”

  “Well, I rehabbed a lame mule last year. Does that count?”

  “A mule?” He laughed his quiet cackles. “Very appropriate. Why not?” He scooted backward and stretched on his back. “Experiment away.”

  “But don’t blame me if you end up worse off.”

  “You’re hereby released of all liability.”

  That smile. It liquefied me on contact. Stop it. I couldn’t afford to feel like this. Not only was the attraction dangerous and inconvenient, it was also inappropriate. He was my charge and I was his caregiver. I was supposed to heal him, not ogle over him like a hormonal adolescent.

  Worse, what if I was malfunctioning? What if my past was influencing my behavior?

  I was no ignorant chick. I’d done research and read a lot about my situation. I strove to make myself into an educated survivor. Lots of people developed hypersexual behaviors after experiencing what I had, but my reaction had been the complete opposite. I hadn’t been attracted to anyone, hadn’t connected with anyone physically or emotionally in years, and I avoided intimacy at all cost.

  Why was this happening to me now?

  I pushed the troubling thoughts out of my head. After all, there was no real danger. I was barren inside and not much to look at on the outside. No one in their right mind would be attracted to someone as damaged and scarred as me, especially not Ash, who’d have the pick of the litter. Surely his finely honed brain steered him clear of broken people like me.

  I worked my fingers carefully through Ash’s sweats, feeling along his thigh. His quads contracted in a massive spasm. His hamstring was stiff as a blade. With care, I bent his knee, perched his injured foot over my back and tucked my shoulder beneath the back of his knee. Then I pressed forward, slowly stretching the quads.

  “How does that feel?” I asked.

  “Hurts good.” He winced. “Keep going.”

  “Let’s do it in small increments.” I eased the pressure before I slowly increased it again. “We don’t want to kill you.”

  His face came closer when I pressed forward. I caught a whiff of his scent: boiling water, fresh clay and cold granite imbued with a hint of cedar from the shampoo he kept in the shower. Shards of dark blue and obsidian black flecked his blue irises, which focused on my face with laser-beam intensity.

  “I know you don’t like questions,” he said, “but could you just answer one?”

  I leaned away from him. “And if I say no, will you stop asking?”

  “But you didn’t say no.” He grinned. “Do you perchance have a history of paranoia?”

  “What?” I stared at him. “No!”

  “It’d be okay if you did,” he said. “You don’t mind hanging out with me, and I’m a firm believer in the law of reciprocity—”

  “I’m not paranoid.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t think so either. Most of the time, you’re a pretty rational lady. You’ve got a big brain and you use it frequently. Besides, there are no psychotropic meds anywhere in the house.”

  I straightened on my knees. “You looked?”

  He offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry?”

  “You’re not sorry.”

  “I am, I swear,” he said in a strangled voice. “You don’t have to press the stretch so hard.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I released the pressure and tried to cope with the idea that he’d looked through my cupboards.

  “Don’t get mad at me,” he said. “You have to admit that scouting was the smart thing to do.”

  “Really?” I scoffed. “You wouldn’t think so if I’d been the one looking through all your stuff.”

  “Just because you haven’t admitted to it, doesn’t mean you haven’t done it.”

  The heat that blushed my face served as a signed and sealed confession.

  “See?”

  “Turn around,” I said, trying to disguise my embarrassment.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, shifting to his belly. “Being thorough is always wise. The way I see it, I’ve done us a favor. I’ve eliminated madness from the equation. Which leaves two outstanding possibilities: either you’re running from the law or...”

  “Or what?”

  “Or you’re running away from a specifi
c someone.”

  Two out of two. My heart skipped a whole lot of beats. My lungs failed to process the air. I was running away from a very specific, dangerous, savage someone—someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me and anyone associated with me on sight. Despite the brisk day, a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. The less Ash knew, the better. It was imperative for his safety.

  I forced myself to breathe and focused on the moment. My fingers dug into the hip insertion as I pressed down in search of a release. The feel of his muscular glutes warmed my belly. His mind might be too sharp for my liking, but it was true: he had a very nice ass.

  “On your side, mister.”

  He shifted toward me at the same time that I leaned into him and ended up accidentally brushing his lips against my chin. His breath rushed against my neck. Judging by the shiver that shook me, the guy’s lungs were fashioned from pure ice. My nipples poked through my shirt like a pair of frozen spikes.

  He stared at me as only Ash could. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  “Impossible,” I said. “Your mind is a one-way track.”

  “It’s a great strategy,” he said, “that is, if you meant to distract me.”

  Had he just made a pass at me? No way. Maybe? I suppressed the subversive part of me that wanted to believe he’d made a pass at me. I was not that delusional.

  He sighed as if in resignation. “Back to my theories, then. My grandmother was a law-abiding citizen. She would have never aided a criminal. On the other hand, she was known for taking on impossible odds. She would have gone out of her way to help someone trying to escape from an abusive relationship, for example.”

  Not a word made it through my tightly pressed lips. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I couldn’t tell him the truth either. Fortunately, my phone rang.

  I released his leg and scrambled on all fours for the cell. “Yes?”

  “You’re going to get a call from a supervisor in ten minutes,” Gunny Watkins said. “Make the most out of it.”

  “A million thanks,” I said before she hung up.