by Rowe, Julie
“Yeah.” It was softly spoken, barely audible. Unlike the cop, Smoke didn’t fidget or shift his weight; he just waited, his whole body seeming attuned to hers.
It was disconcerting, having someone’s complete attention like that. Uncomfortable. Then he let out a big breath. “It’s a long story.”
After a moment’s consideration she asked, “A…personal story?”
He nodded.
“Fair enough.” She sipped her lemonade. She had to give it to him. “We’ve all got one those.”
He continued to stare at her. “Any trouble today?”
“Got the evil eye from the guy at the rental car place when I told them what happened to the first one and asked for a second one, but other than that, no.”
He nodded and went into the house.
Kini laughed to herself. Smoke wasn’t much of a talker, but he still managed to get his thoughts across with a combination of grunts, body language, and miniscule facial expressions.
That cop sure had plenty to say, and he didn’t look like the forgiving sort. If he could have arrested Smoke, he would have. So, what was that story?
No use speculating. Neither party was likely to explain it to an outsider.
Kini got up and went inside. Here, she thought this was going to be an easy assignment.
Not.
…
Susan had chattered to Kini all through dinner, while Smoke and his dad ate silently. It could have been awkward, but when she asked Susan about who were the movers and shakers in town, she received a colorfully sarcastic rundown of who was who.
After dinner, she spent some time on her laptop catching up on reports. Smoke and his father left to return his rental car to the local office.
She wasn’t keeping tabs on him, no she wasn’t. After finishing up her reports, she read a book then went to bed early. In the living room. On the couch.
Sometime later, a voice dragged her out of sleep.
“What?” she asked as she rolled over.
Smoke stood a few feet away, his features shrouded by shadows. “You’re on my bed.”
She forced her eyes to focus on him. “I was on your bed last night. This isn’t your bed.”
“You’re not sleeping here.” He said the words like they were accepted fact.
No one had asked her. “Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
Oh, for the love of Pete. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not polite.”
Did he just say what she thought he said? “Because I’m a girl?”
“Because you’re a guest.”
“That’s a bullshit answer.” She rolled back over. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Move or be moved,” he told her, a deep, dark demand.
A shiver rushed through her. He was serious; he would move her.
“Fine,” she said with a huff, rolling off the couch. She wrapped the blanket she was using around her like a cape and walked into his bedroom. “You’re several inches too tall for this couch. Don’t blame me for your sore back tomorrow.”
“I think I’ll survive.” It should have sounded like an offhand comment, but it didn’t. It had weight, and it told her exactly where his head was at. Survival.
Kini stopped and turned to look at him. “Not good enough. This is your home; this is where you should thrive.”
He stared at her, confusion stamped on his features for an entire second before he wiped his face clean and lay down on the couch.
She went into his bedroom and lay down on his ginormous king-size bed. Sleep, when it came, was full of dark rooms and darker voices.
…
So far, this day sucked.
Yesterday, Kini had awoken on Smoke’s naked chest, hot, bothered, and unsure if she was still sleeping. The man had looked like he came straight out of her naughtiest fantasies.
Today, she’d awoken cold, alone, and afraid to remember the nightmares she’d dreamed. From the time she’d gotten her coffee to the time she’d gotten to the tenth house on her list it had only gone downhill from there.
Kini pasted a smile on her face and slowly backed away from the front door she’d knocked on thirty seconds ago.
The owner of the house stood on the other side of the screen door, his hands on the collars of two large, loud, lethal dogs. Neither dog looked like any breed in particular, not that she was paying much attention to anything but their teeth as they snarled and barked at her.
“I don’t care who you say you are,” the homeowner shouted at her. “You’re not coming in here and taking any of my blood.”
Kini began to explain, “It’s completely voluntary—”
“You government people seem to think you can go anywhere you want and take anything you want,” the man said, interrupting her. “All you’re doing is spreading diseases around and getting more people sick.”
“Sick?” The hairs on the back of Kini’s neck prickled. “What do you mean sick?”
“My sister-in-law died two weeks ago,” he snarled. “Some kind of viral thing. And two little kids on the next block last week.” He all but spit the words at her. “If you work for the hospital, you have to know this.”
Three deaths? What. The. Fuck.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I’m not affiliated with the hospital.”
The man looked momentarily surprised then contemptuous. “Who the fuck do you work for then?”
Huh-oh. Something told her he wasn’t going to like her answer. But now that he’d asked, she was obligated to tell him. “The CDC.”
His jaw dropped.
His face morphed into an enraged mask.
Kini’s hind brain told her to run while simultaneously hitting her internal gas and turbo charge buttons. The rest of her didn’t argue. She pivoted on her right foot and shot across the dusty yard and dirty grass toward her car.
Behind her, the dogs barked even louder than before. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see both animals launch themselves through the screen door.
She got around the car, into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door shut just before either dog could reach her.
They rammed themselves against the door, scratched at it, then rammed it some more.
A shout from the house jerked her head toward it.
The homeowner walked toward her, a rifle in his hands.
She screamed and jammed the keys in the ignition. As soon as the engine woke up she stomped on the gas. The vehicle careened down the road, barely missing several parked vehicles, heading for Main Street.
Panic receded after a few blocks, and she was able to pry her hands from the steering wheel.
Coffee, she needed coffee. Buckets and barrels and boats of coffee.
There was a little shop and bakery on the same street as the post office and police station. She ordered herself the largest coffee they had and some kind of cinnamon bun that was larger than her hand with her fingers spread out.
It took a few minutes for her thundering pulse to calm enough to realize everyone in the shop had gone completely quiet and were staring at her. Unhappy, unwelcome, unnerving. There was enough hostility in the air to choke a person, and all of it was directed at her.
Her stomach cramped up, and the thought of eating any more of the sticky confection made her nauseous. She took her coffee and left.
She managed to arrive at her next possible study participant’s address without being chased down the street by people armed with pitchforks, getting a ticket for distracted driving, or getting shot at. The white-haired woman who answered the door invited her in and answered all her questions without hesitation.
She had to explain what she’d do with the woman’s blood before she allowed Kini to take a sample, then the elderly woman explained that she’d been a nurse for thirty years. That started a conversation about vaccinations that lasted a half an hour.
Kini completed her paperwork then left the house and walked to her car, but something about it was off. As sh
e rounded the hood, the problem became obvious—both tires on the driver’s side were flat.
Not just flat, slashed.
She was pretty sure the car rental company only kept one spare in the trunk.
A sigh escaped her as she pulled out her cell phone, took a couple of pictures of the damage, then phoned Jim and Susan’s house.
Susan answered. “Hello.”
“Hi Susan, it’s Kini.” How to explain this? “Can you recommend a towing company in town?”
Susan’s voice became alarmed. “Something happened to your car? Again?”
She ignored the second question. “Two flats. Looks like someone slashed my tires.”
“What?” Susan asked, outrage turning the word into a curse. “This is crazy.”
Kini was out of energy to get upset. “Yeah.” She rubbed one throbbing temple.
“Jim’s brother runs a mechanic shop,” Susan said in a let’s-take-care-of-business tone. “Give me your location, and I’ll have him drive over to grab you and your car.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
She gave Susan the address then hung up and stared at the tires. How had she become enemy number one in this community? Her first rental car had been graffitied and T-boned, a guy sic’d his dogs on her, then everyone in the coffee shop watched her like she was carrying the plague, and now this.
No one’s luck was this bad.
“Hey!”
Kini looked up at the shout. A young man, no more than twenty, strode toward her. Angry brows crowded his eyes, and he pointed a finger at her. “We don’t want you here, Fed.” He said the last word like it was dirty.
“I’m not with the federal government or the FBI,” she said to him in a firm tone. “And I’d love to leave, but someone slashed my tires.”
Rather than glance at the tires, the young man glanced up and down the road. Kini followed his gaze but didn’t see anyone. Was this the guy who’d hacked up her tires?
He grinned at her, but it wasn’t a nice expression, and said, “Too bad for you.” He strode toward her, his gaze hot with anger.
She’d seen that expression on a man’s face before, and it only meant one thing. Pain, for her.
Fear locked down her muscles momentarily, but she breathed through the response like her self-defense teacher taught her. Yesterday, she’d kneed Smoke’s cousin in the nuts without giving it a second thought, but he’d surprised her. She could see this guy coming, and her imagination began cramming every possible catastrophe into her cranium.
The sample. She had to protect the sample she’d just taken.
She tucked the case under the car and stepped away. Getting caught between him and the vehicle would be a mistake.
He kept coming, his speed increasing as he got closer, with enough rage on his face to ensure he’d probably knock her out with one punch.
Panic tried to take over her breathing, narrow her vision, and send her running, but she fought the bitch off.
Her assailant was too close, if she ran he’d grab or tackle her, then she’d be in real trouble.
He pulled his right arm back as he got within reaching distance, but she stepped into him, spoiling his strike. Her knee came up between his legs, then she stomped on his running shoe with every ounce of force she could put into her cowboy boot. She felt the distinct snap of a bone breaking in his foot.
He howled in pain and stumbled back.
It worked. Those self-defense lessons actually worked.
The high of the success only lasted a few seconds, followed by nausea strong enough to knock her to her knees. With the threat disabled, her stomach seemed way too interested in throwing up all over the situation. Was this normal?
The young man screeched and cupped his groin while hopping around and trying to hold his foot at the same time. “Fucking bitch,” he wailed.
“You threw the first punch,” she retorted, breathing deeply through her mouth to stave off vomiting.
“I’m going to fuck you up so bad, bitch,” he snarled. Then tripped and landed on his side.
“Oh, stop being such a baby,” she said, dizzy with relief, and sick and tired of the weird attitude the people of this town seemed to have. “It’s just one little bone in your foot. No one will even put a cast on it.”
He tried to stand, attack her, but as soon as he got to his feet, he howled in pain and fell on his butt.
The rumble of an engine caught her attention. A tow truck pulled up next to her car, sending a cloud of dust into the air. A man got out, walked around the large vehicle, and out of the haze.
Smoke.
He took in the car with its slashed tires, the sniveling whiner, and her kneeling on the ground. His face tightened as he looked her over, his gaze tactile and proprietary.
She shivered and stood. No man had ever looked at her like that before. Then she noticed his clenched fists and realized his expression also contained an enormous amount of rage.
She got to her feet and fought to stand her ground, to wait for him to regain control, and gave serious consideration to hissing a warning at the guy who attacked her. His life might be in danger.
“What happened?” Smoke asked at last.
Sucking in a breath, Kini was about to answer. Her attacker beat her to it.
“She broke my foot,” the big baby said, pointing at her. “And flattened my balls.”
Smoke looked at her accuser. “She’s what, five feet tall and you’re six feet,” he said. “In order for her to knee you in the nuts and stomp on your foot, you’d have to be standing in her personal space.”
“He threw a punch at me,” Kini said before Whiner could complain again.
Smoke grunted. “Your fault. She was defending herself.”
Whiner didn’t take that well. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Okay.” Smoke smiled—it oozed threat and dripped menace. It was the scariest expression she’d ever seen on a man’s face.
She darted a look at Whiner.
He’d paled, but he pulled himself together and said, “I don’t know you, dude, but this is my town. I have a lot of friends here, so there isn’t anywhere you can go where I can’t find you.”
“Freddy.” Smoke spoke the name slowly, as if savoring it. “Alvarez.” He let the name hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “The last time I saw you, you were sitting in county jail for a break and enter on your aunt’s house. I know exactly how many friends you have, and where they all live, too.”
Freddy’s eyes widened and he leaned away. “Smoke?”
Smoke’s white teeth flashed in the too-bright sun.
Freddy didn’t say anything, just stared at Smoke like he was the monster under the bed.
“Go, Freddy,” Smoke said, his smile gone as if it had never been there. “Stay away from her.”
Freddie swallowed hard. “Yeah, yeah, or the buzzards will be picking my bones clean out in the desert,” he said as he got to his feet, wobbled, winced, then limped away.
Smoke didn’t move until Freddy was out of sight, then he stalked toward her, so totally focused on her she took a step back before catching herself and planting her feet.
He stopped a couple of feet away, his gaze examining her again. “Okay?” His tone was surprisingly tentative and gentle.
Good Lord, the force of his personality was enough to knock a body over. “I’m fine.” Her voice sounded much too shaky. She managed to take in a breath and repeated, “I’m fine.” In a tone that could be believed.
He reached out and cupped her face with one large, warm hand.
Breathing was optional, right?
He studied her carefully, as if looking for evidence that Freddy had hit her, nodded once, then dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said as if finally satisfied she wasn’t injured. He went to the truck.
Smoke turned the truck around and backed it up to her car. He got out and began hooking it up to the tow truck as if he’d done it a million times before. Hadn’t he jus
t gotten out of the army?
“You got a job with the mechanic?” she asked him as she grabbed her sample case off the ground.
“Nope, just borrowed his truck. He’s busy.”
“Oh.” She let out a deep breath. Her shoulders hurt, and she rotated them to loosen the tension.
“Freddy hit you?” Smoke asked, and she realized he’d stopped moving to watch her.
“I don’t think so. He tried, but I got in too close.”
Smoke’s intense gaze never left her face. “You know how to fight.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Dirty,” she qualified. “I know how to fight dirty.”
He didn’t move, didn’t even blink.
She sighed. “I have a good self-defense instructor. It’s something of a hobby.”
“Ah,” Smoke intoned as if she’d explained the one concept that was the meaning to everything.
He finished hooking up the car then nodded at her to get into the truck’s cab. At least, that’s what she thought his nod meant.
She got in and so did he, but he didn’t put the truck into gear, didn’t even take it out of park. He looked out the windshield for several seconds then turned his head to make eye contact with her.
“Good.”
Good? What was goo— Oh. Her fighting dirty. The expression on his face was so…satisfied.
He loved that she fought dirty.
Was that good or bad? She smiled weakly at him. He nodded, then he started the truck and drove down the street.
“What pissed Freddy off?” Smoke asked after a minute.
“I don’t know. I’d just left my last study participant. I discovered the slashed tires and called your parents to find out about a towing company. Freddy came walking down the street and yelled at me to leave. He never said why or what made him angry in the first place.”
Smoke grunted, but said nothing more.
“The house before that one was worse, though. The guy sent his dogs after me for no reason I could figure out.”
“Dogs?”
“Yeah. Scared me half to death. They scratched up the door of my rental, too.”
“Bad luck,” Smoke said, driving into the parking lot of a long, low building surrounded by an unorganized assortment of vehicles. “Caution is good, too.”