by Sybil Bartel
Shit. “Drive back to your car or wherever you want to go. I’ll drop you off and you can be on your way.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?” Was he crazy?
“You heard me.”
“You don’t want to get involved,” I warned.
“I got involved the third time you looked behind us in church. I’m not going to leave you to fend for yourself—unless you have another option?” He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.
I didn’t say anything.
“That’s what I thought.” He eased my car onto the highway.
“Where are you going?” This was kidnapping. Except I couldn’t put any force behind my words or the sentiment.
“I’m hungry. We’re going to dinner.”
Dinner? Shit. This was like going from one hostage situation to another. I didn’t do dinner. I didn’t know how to do dinner. Years of solitude and avoidance of any social interaction, I didn’t know what I’d say to him, not that I felt like talking. I was busy thinking about the ramifications of what he’d just done.
We drove a few miles before he spoke again. “You haven’t asked my name.”
“I heard the priest, I know your name. It’s Sergeant Johnson, not that it matters. I won’t see you again after tonight.” One way or another, he would disappear.
“Is that a threat or a request?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you telling me to go away or asking?”
The adrenaline was wearing off and I was suddenly tired, of everything. “Neither. Stating fact.”
“It’s Blaze, Blaze Johnson. Nice to meet you, Layna Blair.” He held his hand out.
I took it grudgingly, but the second our hands touched, I wished like hell I hadn’t. Warm and strong, his firm grip sent a shockwave of awareness all the way to my stomach.
“If, in fact, that is your real name.” He released me.
Ignoring the goose bumps all over my body, I turned back to the window. Who was he kidding? What kind of stupid alias was Blaze? Fire Boy would have been more original. Not that it mattered what his name was since I wouldn’t see him after tonight. Miami would make sure of it. I was only humoring him with the whole dinner thing. Not like I had anywhere else to be.
We were silent as he took the next exit and pulled into a restaurant on the south end of town. Parking, he cut the engine, pocketed the key and hopped out. I swore under my breath. Casual, as if he carried concealed every day of his life, he untucked his T-shirt and pulled it over the gun. I tried to keep some distance between us but he came to my side and put his hand on my back. Instant heat shot straight to my stomach and traveled all the way south to my toes. I pretended I didn’t feel safe as hell with him next to me or that his hand didn’t generate instant heat, making my legs tremble. Blaze glanced across the parking lot then led me into the restaurant like everything was normal.
The hostess, a pretty college-aged girl, stared at Blaze as he asked for a table. I knew where she was coming from. He had presence—in spades. Not to mention all that muscle covering his six-foot-whatever frame. He wasn’t eye candy, he was eye crack, if you liked that sort of thing. Which I swore to myself I didn’t.
The love-struck hostess glanced over her shoulder about eighteen times as she led us to a table. Blaze ignored her and I rolled my eyes. When she stopped at a booth, Blaze held his hand out, gesturing for me to get in.
“Where else am I going to sit?” Did he think I would flee? Feign a restroom visit and slip out the back?
“Ladies first,” he said dryly.
I glared at him for three seconds to show him who’s boss, then I scooted into the booth.
Fire Boy slid in next to me.
Seriously? “There’s a perfectly nice seat on the other side.”
“This is fine.” He picked up his menu.
Yeah, I’ll bet. Jerk. I tried another tactic. Glancing at the menu, I lied. “I can’t afford these prices. We should leave.”
“You’re not paying.”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Have a salad.” He didn’t even look up from his menu.
“I want to leave.” But if I was being honest, which I wasn’t, it was a total lie. Every smart-ass answer out of his mouth made me more intrigued. Besides, why make it easy for miss cheery hostess?
“We will, once you’ve eaten.”
That did it. Five words and I was pissed. Five bossy, presumptuous, arrogant, words. “Once I’ve eaten? I’m not hungry.” Screw him.
“I am,” he said calmly.
This was bullshit. “Feed yourself. Give me my keys.” I held my hand out.
“Not happening.”
Asshole. “This is kidnapping.” I managed proper outrage, but he was probably twice my weight. What was I gonna do? Wrestle him?
He lowered his menu and focused his frosty stare on me. For a full minute, he said nothing. When I began to squirm, he lifted his menu again.
I huffed and put my menu down. Fine, score one for asshole. “How did you know?” I realized after I asked, it was too vague a question. I wasn’t good at this social interaction thing.
“It sounded made up at best, Anglicized at worst. You look Eurasian, or maybe part Hispanic. Also, I called your name twice and you didn’t respond.”
Not for the first time, I cursed my mixed heritage. “They teach you to be observant in the Marines?” I asked flippantly.
“Your life depends on it.”
“Well that’s a cheerful thought.” Heavy on the sarcasm and way past rational, I was circling over pissed off and tired.
It was his turn to look at me like I was missing all my teeth, but he didn’t have a chance to respond because a waitress showed up. She was a carbon copy of the hostess. Stupid college town. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so bitter if my life had gone differently and I was rushing sororities right alongside these girls—then again, maybe not.
“Hi! Can I get y’all some drinks?” She smiled at Fire Boy.
Fire Boy glanced at me questioningly but I was too busy staring daggers at the waitress. In my defense, I couldn’t help it. She was too cheerful. “Two shots of Patron and a glass of water.” And hurry. My attitude and emotions were all over the place, I needed a buffer.
The waitress looked at Fire Boy and amped up her smile.
“Diet Coke,” he said in that quiet voice that was starting to bug me.
“Would you like an appetizer?” She kept her eyes locked on him.
He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I gave him my best fuck-off face, perfected over three years to keep people at bay.
Frowning, he set the menu down. “We’re ready to order.”
“What would you like, ma’am?” The waitress smiled at me sweetly, either missing my rude behavior or too nice for her own good. I could tell her what too nice would get her in life. She should frown more but it’d probably reflect badly on her tips. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Fire Boy didn’t miss a beat. “Two rib eyes, medium, two baked potatoes with the works, one spinach salad and one Caesar salad.”
“You got it. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Off the waitress went.
“Who’s the Caesar salad for?” I asked.
“Me. You’re vegetarian, remember?”
“But you ordered me a steak.”
“Yep,” he said, unapologetically.
“Not very considerate, are you?”
“You’re not a vegetarian.”
Life without bacon would suck. “You’re right but that still doesn’t make you very accommodating.” I didn’t count knocking Miami’s men unconscious and breaking their bones. I still didn’t know what I’d call that but accommodating wasn’t even close.
“Never said I was.”
No kidding. The waitress showed up with our drinks and a loaf of hot bread. She put the shots of tequila between us and left.
“I don’t drink.” Fire Boy’s expression was still a stone mask, but
I swear I could detect a note of disapproval.
“Good, because I didn’t order these for you.” I threw back one shot, then the other. The burn down my throat quickly turned to a hot simmer in my veins. I put my head back against the booth and closed my eyes. Yeah, that was more like it.
“Better?”
I peeked one eye at him. “Nope, you’re still here.” I closed my eye again.
“What’s your real name?” His voice, quieter, was close to my ear.
The familiar bite of grief that was absent a second ago suddenly hit my stomach and I felt guilty. For the past ten minutes, I’d completely forgotten about my life. “What’s yours?”
“I already told you.”
“Nice try, Fire Boy.” I wasn’t sure if I should thank this marine for giving me ten minutes of reprieve or hate him.
When he didn’t say anything, I opened my eyes. His face dead serious, I forgot about my life. “You have got to be kidding. Blaze? For real? Blaze Johnson?”
“My mother liked soap operas.”
No shit. “Must’ve been fun in basic training.” I didn’t know the first thing about the Marines but I could imagine a bunch of guys relentlessly hazing him over his name.
“I wouldn’t categorize basic training as fun.”
Just then a server brought our salads. The lanky-looking kid smiled at me but when he saw Fire Boy, his face lit up. “Hey Buck, I didn’t know you were back. Good to see you in one piece this time.” He put our plates down. “How long you home for?”
“Jason.” Fire Boy, aka Blaze, aka Buck rose partially and shook hands with the kid. “I’m on leave.”
The kid’s face dropped. “Oh hey man, I’m sorry. I heard about your mom. How’s she doing?”
Fire Boy shrugged. He kinda looked like a Buck.
“Jason, this is Layna.” He inclined his head toward me.
Jason smiled. “Nice to meet you. It’s good to see Buck with a pretty lady.” He winked.
I refrained from rolling my eyes. I was a lot of things but pretty wasn’t one of them. My mother was half Chinese, half Italian and my father was half Cuban, half Greek. I was a mess of indistinguishable ethnicity. I looked slightly Asian but with a proud Greek nose and wide set brown eyes on a round face. My hair was heavy and dark and I wore it straight because there wasn’t anything else I could do with it.
I ignored his pretty comment. “How long have you known Buck?” I might have said Buck sarcastically.
Jason laughed. “Since we were kids. Well, enjoy your dinner. Good to see you, man. Call me if you get some free time. We’ll take the ATVs out or hit the gym. Layna, nice to meet you.” He nodded and left.
I looked at Buck. “Buck?”
His cold eyes stared at me for a moment before he answered. “I’m good at hunting.”
Just like that, I knew he meant more than deer. My mouth had been watering from the smell of the bread but Buck’s comment suddenly killed my appetite and reality came flooding back. The men from the parking lot were going to be royally pissed when they woke up, and so was Miami. The best thing I could do for Buck now was to get him away from me. The longer I was in his company, the harder it’d be to explain. As if on cue, my cell phone rang. I managed not to jump but I couldn’t stop my mind from spiraling to last week’s incident.
I’d stupidly decided to shake Shorty and his partner by getting up at 5:00 a.m. and driving to Jacksonville. I had no plan other than to get away for a day. Maybe the beach, maybe a mall—I didn’t care. Shorty had pissed me off the night before by following me through the grocery store. I thought I’d go for a little payback.
I made it exactly five miles out of town before my cell started ringing. First it was Miami, asking where the hell I was going. When I hung up on him, Shorty started calling. He wasn’t as nice. In a fit of rage, I’d thrown the phone out the window then I turned the car around and went home. I spent the rest of the day holed up in my apartment, waiting for something to happen. By 10:00 p.m., I stupidly thought I was in the clear and went to bed. An hour later, Shorty pounded on my front door.
“Wake the fuck up, bitch!”
Panicked a neighbor would call the police, not thinking straight, I’d opened the door in only a tank top and underwear.
Shorty had grabbed me by the throat, and his hot, rancid breath had slid over my skin. “You throw away one more fucking cell phone, pendeja, and I’m going to fuck some sense into you.” Then he’d shoved a new phone down the front of my panties.
“You going to answer that?”
I snapped out of the memory and put the phone to my ear.
Buck turned away as if to give me privacy.
“Miami,” I said bitterly.
“Ah, little one, you disappoint me,” his Hispanic accent crooned over the line. I’d never seen him, didn’t know his real name, didn’t know what he looked like, but I knew his wretched voice.
“What else is new? I just can’t win. You’re so hard to please.” Sarcasm was my coping mechanism. If I let the fear or hatred in, it took over.
“Where are you? Come home, you’re so far away. It’s too cold for you there.” His concern, as always, was fake. It was also a precursor to his anger. His anger I took seriously. He could do bad, bad things with it.
“I have no home.” He’d made sure of that.
He tsked. “Such talk—you have a beautiful home. Water views, a beautiful swimming pool. Is so nice. Come home, lay by the pool. You feel better.”
I’d heard it all before. The home had belonged to my parents before they died. Now it was mine. I should’ve sold it, but I couldn’t bring myself to. My mother had loved that house.
“I have to work. I can’t lay around all day,” I snapped at him.
“You don’t have to work, little one. There’s plenty of money, you know this. I don’t like you working, too many bad people out there. Is not safe. You come home. I show you nice young man. You get married, have babies, fill that big house.”
Everything he said was bullshit. He wanted to control me. His freedom depended on it. Unfortunately, my life depended on his freedom. “Not a chance.”
Miami’s voice lost its polite edge. “But that man you’re with? He’s not good man. You’re in danger and now because of him it will take me hours to get someone up there to protect you.”
I glanced at Buck. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You tink he can save you? You tink I won’t get to him too?”
My stomach bottomed out.
Miami’s voice turned chillingly quiet. “Because I will. No one can protect you but me. I ask again. Where are you?”
Miami didn’t protect anything, he made people disappear. I’d spent three years trying not to become a statistic. “The movies,” I lied.
“Don’t lie to me, hijita, we both know what happens when you do that,” he warned.
Anger flared. “I’m not your daughter,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m no one’s daughter, thanks to you.” How dare he. He was there, he was there when my parents were murdered. I’d heard him. That phone call and his voice were permanently burned into my memory.
Miami’s tone instantly turned placating. “Are you alone?”
“No, I’m not alone,” I said through gritted teeth, stupidly taunting him.
Buck’s hand came down on my thigh and I flinched. I didn’t dare look at him. I’d just thrown him to the wolves.
“Ah, well, you leave me no choice. Remember, you brought this on yourself.” Miami hung up.
Shit. Shit. I threw the phone back in my purse and looked desperately for our waitress, any waitress.
“What’s going on?” Buck asked quietly, his hand generating way too much heat on my leg.
I flagged a cookie-cutter waitress down and practically jumped on her. “Two shots of Patron, as quick as you can.” Her smile vanished when I made a shooing gesture.
Buck reached across me and snatched my purse. I made a grab for it but he had m
y cell out and the purse on the floor in a blink of an eye. “Hey!” I reached for his arm but he switched the cell to his other hand.
Buck pulled out his own cell phone and after checking the display on mine, he started messing with his.
“Give that back!” I whisper yelled, not wanting to cause a scene.
Shoving my purse across the floor to me with his boot, he handed my phone back.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snatched the stupid thing, turned it off and dumped it in my purse.
“Tracing the call,” he said calmly.
“What? You can’t do that!” Panic rose, sharp and painful.
“I can and I did.” He leveled me with a look. “Miami isn’t a name, it’s his location. Who’s Richard Smith?”
Oh God oh God oh God. It wouldn’t be his real name but that didn’t matter. Buck already knew too much. I had to get out of here. I stood on shaky legs and slung my purse over my shoulder. Buck watched me with those calm, piercing eyes. Graceless and inelegantly, I stepped over him and out of the booth.
“Okay, been nice knowing you. Good luck and all that. Hope your mom is okay. You can keep the car, forge my name on the title—or something.” As I spoke, the calm left Buck’s face and he started to stand, slow motion, like he was in shock.
I turned and fled.
Chapter Three
Fuck my car. It was just a hunk of metal anyway, a nice Lexus hunk, but still a hunk. Fuck Gainesville, fuck the cold, fuck my shit job and fuck my miserable fucking life. I was pissed. Pissed that my dad had been stupid enough to get him and Mom killed, pissed I never got my two more shots of tequila. Pissed at intrusive fucking men and pissed because I’d almost gotten used to Gainesville, in a kinda-sorta-maybe-I-liked-to-pretend-I-fit-in-with-all-the-college-aged-brats sorta way...maybe. Kinda. Fuck. Whatever. I was outta here. Time for somewhere new.
Miami would find me but maybe it’d take a few weeks—or days. I could live with a few free days. In fact, the thought made me giddy. All I needed was my emergency stash of cash from my apartment and I’d be good to go. Out of habit, I reached into my purse for my keys. Fuck.
I needed a cab. But I had no idea how long Shorty and the bloody mess would be out of commission. I didn’t think they’d be waiting at my apartment yet, but I just didn’t know. The only thing I had going for me at this point was distance. South Beach was three hundred miles away. Miami was right—it’d take him hours to get a replacement crew up here.