by Meghan March
Faraday cages, Ro would bet. Her dad had an entire room in their basement at home lined in aluminum that sealed when you shut the door. In the event of an electromagnetic pulse, the metal skin lining the room would shield the contents from the pulse of energy that blew out unprotected electronics. But Faraday cages weren’t commonplace.
Ro narrowed her gaze on Graham. “That’s not exactly normal, you know. Who got bit with the Doomsday Prepper bug?”
Graham laughed, although it sounded forced. “When you’ve seen what we’ve seen and trained for the things we did, you don’t think in terms of Plan A and Plan B. We’re more into planning for contingencies C-Z.” When he didn’t elaborate, Ro wanted to push, but a glance at his grim features stopped her.
She looked toward the map.
“You said there was more than one perimeter?”
“Yeah, there’s a second perimeter along the outside of the fence line. Those are your standard run-of-the-mill laser sensors. If the beam is broken, it sounds the alarm in here.”
“How do you know where someone broke the beam?”
“We’ve got each side set up as a series of shorter beams. Each beam corresponds to a section of the map.”
“So why bother with fire watch if you’ve got all of these sensors set up? Isn’t that just a waste of manpower?”
“There’s no substitute for two eyes and a gun.”
“Don’t you have a lot of false alarms? Animals breaking the beams?” Ro asked.
“Not as many as you’d think. The beam runs parallel to the fence, only about an inch beyond it. An animal would have to ram the fence to break the beam.”
Graham pointed out the gates that had been set into the fence line, as well as routes taken by the guys on fire watch, which differed during a day shift versus a night shift, and the treestands that doubled as watch posts.
Ro was amazed at the system. It seemed damn near impossible to get in without being detected. The thought allayed her lingering concern about the creepy trio finding a way to get to her—or Lia, the woman they’d rescued.
When Travis relieved Graham of his shift, Ro requested that Graham take her to the clinic so she could check on her. While stitching her up earlier in the day, Beau had guardedly answered Ro’s questions about her.
All they knew was her name, as the woman hadn’t spoken since she’d arrived. No, Ro couldn’t try to talk to her, because they were keeping her sedated. When she’d first woken, she’d panicked, and Beau was afraid she’d hurt herself worse. He was planning to reduce the sedative and promised to let Rowan try to talk to her when she woke up. He’d already intended to have Allison present, hoping that seeing a woman, rather than big, hulking men, would help her stay calm this time.
Graham radioed Beau, and Beau said they weren’t quite ready. “Give me an hour, and check back.”
With an hour to kill, Graham insisted that Ro demonstrate exactly how rusty her skills were with a gun.
“You have a shooting range? Seriously?” Why Ro sounded so shocked, Graham wasn’t entirely certain.
“We have to stay sharp, and some of the hunters like to target shoot when they’re not out slaying bucks. This building is reinforced and soundproofed. It doubles as a safe room.”
“What else are you hiding here? As soon as I think I’ve got this place figured out, you throw something like this at me.” She turned to face him after he settled her on a stool. “You going to share the rest of your secrets?”
Graham smiled at the attitude she couldn’t help but radiate. She was a spitfire. And something about her fired his blood like no woman before. He held out the M4 he’d grabbed from the armory.
“You hit the target … I’ll answer a question.”
Ro accepted the assault rifle and held out her hand. “Magazine?”
Graham held one out, and she tried to tug it from his grip. “But every time you miss, you owe me something I want.”
Ro’s gaze narrowed, and she slid the magazine into place without breaking his stare, flipped off the safety, and chambered a round.
Graham glanced to make sure she’d left it on the single-round setting rather than the three-round burst.
“I got this, Conan. I’m not shooting three at a time.”
Well, fuck. This might not go as planned, Graham thought.
“And why do you know that?” he asked, grabbing a paper target.
“No answers unless I miss. Target?”
Graham had just clipped the target to the pulley system. He’d initially thought to keep it closer, but instead he cranked it all the way to the end of the lane.
She raised her eyebrows as if to say “Oh, really? This is how we’re going to play?”
Graham settled ear protection over her ears and slid safety glasses onto her face before donning his own. She gave him a nod and then raised the rifle. Pausing for only a fraction of a second, she squeezed the trigger.
Graham counted. Fifteen shots. Only one was outside of the red center circle of the target. Graham suspected she’d been trying to eliminate every sliver of red on the paper and gone wide. She lowered the rifle and jerked her head toward the target. “Since I owe you one answer: my dad felt it was important for his daughters to know their way around every gun in his arsenal. The M4 was always my favorite. Erica preferred the bolt action .308.”
Graham reached for the crank and pulled the target in. He laid the remains on the counter in front of Rowan, quite sure his cock jerking to life was a completely inappropriate reaction, but he couldn’t help it. The woman was sexy as fuck. Casually gripping a rifle perched on a stool in too big sweats and a too big hoody; she was lethal. Graham suppressed his grin and reached for his sidearm. He pulled the M1911 .45 ACP out of its holster and ejected the magazine and the round in the chamber. He slid the extra bullet into his pocket, and held out the unloaded pistol and magazine to her.
“This might be more of a challenge.” She reached out to pick them up, and he pulled his hands back. “You sure you can handle it? It’s a big gun for a little girl.”
“Seriously? Did you just see me kill your little target? I can handle the kick, Conan.”
“Okay. Have at it then.”
She grasped the pistol and inspected it before checking the clip, sliding it in, flipping off the safety, and chambering a round. She did it all in one smooth, fluid motion. Like her hands had done that very action a thousand times before. Like it was muscle memory. Who the hell was this girl who carried a MOLLE backpack, handled firearms with ease, and responded to him and Zach like she’d been custom made for them? Kryptonite. Fucking kryptonite.
She flipped the safety back on and looked up at him expectantly.
“New target?”
Graham shook himself and pulled a new target from the clipboard attached to the wall and hung it on the clip before starting to crank it out. He looked down at her seated form—her head only came up to his shoulder—even on the tall stool. “How far do you want to go?” Her eyes flared, assuring him the double entendre wasn’t lost on her.
“All the way,” she replied, smiling a temptress’s smile.
Graham ignored his erection, which was now bordering on obscene, and cranked the target out to the end. He stepped back to stand behind her and watched in awe as she raised the .45 and unloaded the seven-round magazine in less than ten seconds. Except for the first shot, which had gone a little high, she’d grouped her shots within a circle the size of a softball. Not bad at all. She re-engaged the safety, ejected the magazine, and handed both back to him with a grin.
“I think that means I get to ask the questions now.”
Graham opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted.
“I think I’m in love with your girl.”
Graham and Rowan swung around to see Travis and Jamie standing just inside the closed door.
“I don’t know about love, but I’ve definitely got a boner for her. Damn, woman,” Jamie said.
Graham’s jaw clenched as annoy
ance surged through him. He wasn’t sure why he cared, but this had been their moment, and the intrusion was decidedly unwelcome.
“What do you need?” Graham bit out.
The grins evaporated, and both men straightened into posture that spoke of years in the military. Travis looked like he was about to salute.
“You weren’t answering your radio, G. Ty mentioned you’d headed for some target practice. Two of the perimeter sensors have tripped. Thought you’d want to know.”
Graham looked down at the radio strapped to his belt. The green light was off. Fuck. He was so goddamn caught up in Rowan that he didn’t even realize the battery was dead. Graham grabbed an extra magazine from his cargo pocket and loaded the M1911 before handing it back to Rowan. Her features screwed up in confusion. He looked to Travis and held out a hand. “Give me your radio.”
Travis also looked confused, but complied. Graham turned up the volume before setting it on Rowan’s lap. He dragged the stool across the room and pulled her up next to the door and in front of the counter that ran along the back wall of the room.
“Do not move from this stool. Bolt the door behind me. You’ll be able to hear everything that’s going on, but don’t use the radio unless someone speaks to you directly. I’ll be back as soon as I can and radio to let you know it’s me. Do not open the door until Zach or I come for you.” He opened the cabinet on the wall above her head. “There’s water, food, blankets, lanterns, and a whole bunch of other crap in here. I shouldn’t be long, but if I am, you’re well-provisioned.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he kissed her. Hard. “I need you safe, babe.” He pulled away and pointed to the section of the floor to the right of the stool. It was covered by worn, gray industrial carpet squares. “If things go bad and someone tries to breach the building, I expect you to carefully hop off this stool, shove the carpet aside, and turn the round metal handle that is recessed in the concrete. It will trigger a hydraulic system, and a small section of the floor will lift like a trap door. You get down the ladder without hurting yourself and hit the red actuator on the wall behind the ladder. It’ll release the hydraulics and engage a lock. No one will be able to get in from up here until you hit the actuator again.”
Ro’s mouth dropped opened, and her eyes widened almost comically.
“With the supplies down there, you’d be set for years.”
“Holy shit. Who are you guys?” Ro whispered. She glanced at the contents of the cabinet in front of her. “And you have peanut butter Power Bars …” Her expression turned blissful before sobering, as if just remembering the seriousness of the situation.
Graham smiled, ducked in for another kiss and turned back to the men.
“Let’s go.”
Graham stalked across the compound and headed straight for the command post and the armory. He needed another sidearm.
“I’ll bring you another .45 and a radio, G,” Travis said, reading his mind. “And Jonah already has Allison and Grace in the bunker under the kitchen. Beau’s locked down in the clinic.” Graham nodded and swung into the command post. Ty was waiting.
“Damn, man, radio broken? Or did you say screw target practice and decide to fuck your girl on that counter in the range? It’s the perfect height. I can just imagine. And your girl’s got that luscious ass and perfect tits …”
Graham was across the room before he’d even realized he was moving, shoving Ty against the wall. “You ever talk about her like that again, and you’ll never come down from those fucking trees. I’ll keep you on fire watch for the rest of the goddamn apocalypse. Get me?”
“Whoa, G-man ... I was just fucking with you.”
“Sitrep?” Graham let him go and crossed the room to look at the map showing the area surrounding the property and the sensors glowing red to indicate where the beams had been broken. Graham tried to focus on the situation at hand; otherwise he might strangle one of his best friends.
Ty’s attitude did a one-eighty as he straightened. “At fifteen hundred hours, the beam near the southwest corner of the property was tripped. Approximately five minutes later, the next beam was broken. Zach, Alex, and Cam are currently on fire watch and haven’t gotten eyes on whatever or whoever it was.”
The door opened and Travis entered, holding out both a sidearm and a radio to Graham.
Ty continued, “You want to send out a few more—” A series of three fast beeps sounded and then repeated from the perimeter sensor station. The three men whipped around to look at the map.
Ty got on the radio, “Be advised, we’ve got another beam tripped on the south side of the fence.”
The radio squawked, “Copy that, boys. Still not seeing any movement. I’m coming down the west fence line, but I’m a ways out,” Zach reported.
“I’m near the northeast corner, so it’ll take me the longest to get over there,” Alex added.
“I just finished my loop in the southeast corner. I’m headed west along south fence line,” Cam radioed.
Shit. Graham checked the pistol, holstered it, and reached for the radio. “Travis, you’re with me. We’ll get there just as quick as anyone. Let’s figure out what the fuck is going on.”
Ty relayed the order into the radio, “Be advised. G-man and T-dog are headed out.”
Jamie grabbed body armor from the hooks on the wall and tossed it to Graham and Travis. With efficient movements, the men strapped it on and then loaded up with extra magazines. Graham grabbed the face paint on the shelf by the door more out of habit than anything. He smeared green, gray, and brown paint on his face and jogged out of the building.
Ro was glad that Graham had thought to leave her a radio, so she’d at least have some idea of what the hell was going on. A third sensor being tripped definitely wasn’t good. She hoped, maybe naively, that it was just some deer out in the wild trying to get at the lush grass inside the fence.
“Be advised. G-man and T-dog are headed out.”
Ro froze; the cards she’d been shuffling fluttering into a rendition of Fifty-two Pick-Up on the counter. “G-man” had to be Graham. And Zach was out there on fire watch, too.
“They’ll both be fine. It’s not like this is their first rodeo,” Rowan said to herself. But still, she didn’t like the fear that pooled and clumped in the pit of her stomach like globs of mercury.
How could she be afraid for people that she’d only known for a day? It seemed insane. No, it was insane. But she couldn’t help it. Hell. She needed to help it. She couldn’t afford to get attached. Whatever this was had a definite expiration date. A really short one. Another few days at most. She would not get attached. Because there was no way this ... thing could last any longer.
“This is about sex and making it home safe. That’s it. That’s all. Then it’s over. End of story. Finished,” Ro said resolutely.
Stamping out all of the other thoughts in her head like a blanket on fire, Ro gathered up the scattered cards and proceeded to deal a game of solitaire. She tried not to wince at the irony.
Graham and Zach had both returned for Ro, but their grim expressions didn’t bode well for what they had discovered. Footprints all along the fence line. No people spotted. Both men were quiet and contemplative. The banter that Ro had grown used to was absent when Zach gave her a piggyback ride to the mess for dinner. Neither shared their thoughts on the day’s events.
The pork chop and mashed potatoes Graham had piled onto her plate smelled delicious, but her twisting gut made them hard to choke down. Unable to stand the silence any longer, Ro said, “You need to put me to work or something. I get that I’m gimpy, but boredom is a dangerous thing for me.”
Graham and Zach jerked up from their respective plates to look at her. The smirk she saw easing onto Zach’s face helped to soothe the churning in her stomach.
“Don’t take this the wrong way and think I’m a misogynistic pig, but ... Allison could use some help with prep and clean up in the kitchen, and maybe even with the laundry and the gard
en,” Zach said, his smirk having reached full power.
Ro held up a hand to stop him. “Hold up. You mean to tell me that poor woman in there does all of that work herself—feeds you, cleans up after you, and grows your food? That just ain’t right.” Ro couldn’t help the country that leaked into her tone as she launched into her mini-rant.
Both men colored slightly. Graham spoke first. “Now wait a minute. It’s not like that. We all take turns helping out in the kitchen. The results of which are sometimes more edible than others ... and Beau shoulders most of the load of the garden. And someone always pitches in to help on wash day. But if you’re interested, we need to double down on watch, so you’d be freeing up another body to patrol the property.”
Ro stowed the mini-rant. “I’m happy to help, but I’m giving you fair warning: my cooking probably isn’t much more edible than the worst of you guys. I haven’t tried to grow anything in almost ten years, and I’ve never done laundry by hand. But I’d also rather pull my weight than not, so if that’s what you need ... I guess I can start by doing dishes.”
Satisfied that she finally had something to contribute to the little society that flourished within the walls, Ro enjoyed the rest of her meal, listening to the guys joke and mock one another. When she was finished, Zach carried her into the kitchen and settled her on a stool in front of the sink. Allison looked at them askance.
Ro rolled up her sleeves. “Put me to work.”
Washing dishes turned out to be much more entertaining than Rowan would’ve guessed. Allison was a veritable font of knowledge when it came to all things related to Castle Creek Whitetail Ranch. She and Jonah and Grace had been living on the property and managing the whitetail breeding and hunting operations. She filled Rowan in as they washed and dried the dishes.
“Do you ever stop working?” Ro asked as Allison hauled out flour, sugar, and butter and began to measure out the ingredients for piecrust.