Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  His children? Tilda pressed her lips together and kept her eyes wide to keep the derisive laugh from exploding. He’d been holed up here beneath this Idaho mountain for way too long.

  “I’m concerned, though,” he continued, “that the transportation plans seem excessive. There’s no way to bring that kind of traffic, such huge trucks, out here without raising suspicion.”

  And they couldn’t afford suspicion. Unquestionably, the thorium, as well as the garnets beforehand, and the silver before that, had all been on land owned by the nearby town, Rossdale. If the townspeople realized what the cult was doing, they’d exercise their rights to the land, the thorium, and the profits.

  “Leave it to me,” Tilda said as the second gong rang out.

  “You’ll bribe the mayor again?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That won’t work this time. His position isn’t strong enough.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll destroy the town. Step up the slow erosion and end Rossdale once and for all.”

  Brown eyes wide with shock, Antonio pulled his hand away from hers. “Destroy it? How?”

  Tilda placed his hand over hers again. With pursed lips, she winked and gave a little shrug.

  “Leave it to me. I’ve had plenty of time to plan their downfall.” And her revenge on both the town, and the only man to deny her. Gideon Ross, damn him.

  The gong rang out for the third time. Tilda raised a brow at Antonio. He nodded and wiped the frown from his face. With a snap of her fingers, they disappeared in a shower of blue sparks.

  * * *

  Gideon pulled his Chevy into the dirt driveway of the old Henderson place. Parking behind the U-Haul, he let the truck idle in the weak afternoon sun. He inspected the furnishings and boxes spilling out the open rear doors of the moving van.

  He’d promised Fred he’d mow the weeds, but that was before. Now that he saw this was where the moving van had landed, he should leave. He was hardly the welcome wagon type. Especially when he wasn’t in the mood to extol the virtues of a town filled with nosy, controlling busybodies, his mother in the lead.

  Lucky for Gideon, he’d escaped that nosy gene. Sure, he’d admit to his fair share of curiosity, but unlike some people, he kept it well contained. And while he’d be willing to own up to a certain amount of stubbornness when he knew he was right—which admittedly was most of the time—he could never be termed controlling. At least, not in comparison to the rest of Rossdale.

  Then again, it could be said it was his duty, as a concerned citizen, to at least say hello to the newcomers. Especially taking into account the state of the house. The oil-slick California landlord had obviously suckered some poor souls into renting the place sight unseen. Wouldn’t be the first time. Gideon would be surprised if the guy hadn’t ever been slapped with a non-disclosure suit.

  He eyed the rotting porch on the second story, the dangling trim, and the broken window by the front door. How long would these tenants last? Not too many newcomers stuck it out in Rossdale. That was probably due to a combination of a depressed economy, culture shock, and like Gene had said, the nasty pranks and problems with the people out at the lake. Rossdale had earned a rather unwelcoming reputation the last few years.

  His concern had nothing to do with wanting to know if the long, luscious, and leggy babe was single. And how she felt about early morning... coffee. With a grin and a flick of his wrist, he cut the ignition. Now that was a question worth finding the answer to.

  He skirted around boxes labeled with words like Emerald, Magenta, and Seafoam and frowned. Colors? Who packed by color? Gideon stopped to look closer, but nothing else was written on the boxes. No room assignation, no hint about what the colored items were. Just the color. Weird.

  No telling if it was furniture for one or two people, although he was pretty sure it didn’t look like a family’s worth of stuff, so he doubted there were kids. Gideon leaned closer to peer into an open box. Fabric. A rainbow of yarns, threads, and metal needles like for knitting, and some funky looking things he couldn’t quite figure out.

  “See something you like?”

  Busted. Gideon turned with an unrepentant grin and a shrug, ready to offer some offhand excuse. Then he came face to face with long, leggy, and luscious. And lost his wits as well as his voice.

  Hot damn. She was fabulous. Pitch-black hair fell in a silken curtain to her shoulders, framing a face Gideon knew he’d be seeing in his dreams. Slashing cheekbones accented the biggest eyes he’d ever seen, and while no expert, he’d be willing to swear she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup. Gideon took in the rest of the package. Long and curvy was right. In snug jeans and an eye-watering purple and pink striped tee shirt, her curves filled out the denim like a dream. Her sexuality was more a hint than a shout.

  Despite being more a shout kind of guy, he definitely liked what he saw.

  “Yeah,” he finally said after clearing his throat.

  “Huh?” She blinked a couple times, her brows creased as she tried to figure out what he meant.

  “I mean, yes,” he said, seeing her expression starting to shift from confused to impatient. “Yes, I definitely see something I like.”

  Gideon would have stood there all day, smiling and staring like a half-wit if it hadn’t been for the guy that came up beside her.

  Damn. He was almost prettier than she was, not that Gideon was the kind to notice that sort of thing. But who wouldn’t be a little awed by a Greek god look-a-like? When the woman slipped her hand in pretty boy’s, Gideon grimaced. There went his visions of serving long, lean, and luscious her morning coffee after an all-night naked-fest.

  His mouth quirked with disappointment, Gideon stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

  “Welcome to Rossdale, I’m Gideon Ross.”

  “Good to meet you, I’m Ryan Lansing,” said pretty boy, reaching to take his hand in a solid-grip handshake. No wedding ring though. Gideon mentally rolled his eyes, sure this was the first time he’d ever checked for that on a man.

  “Thanks for the welcome.” The Greek god inclined his head to the woman. Gideon unconsciously straightened his shoulders and sucked in his gut when he saw the warm, hinting-at-interest, speculation in her eyes.

  “Mikaela Da-um, Lansing,” she said. Her voice brought to mind a smoky blues club, wailing saxophones, and silk sheets. Then it hit him. Lansing. Neither of them wore rings, but they both had the same last name. Gideon looked closer, taking in the similar builds, coloring, and brush-fringed black eyes.

  “You two related?” he asked. Yes, it was rude, but a man needed to know if the lust stirring through his belly had a shot.

  Mikaela’s brow rose in a single, elegant arch. Amusement danced in her midnight eyes and she bit her bottom lip like she was holding back laughter.

  “Brother and sister,” Ryan finally said at Mikaela’s continued silence.

  “Yeah?” Gideon grinned. Maybe he would stick around awhile. “You need help hauling stuff in?”

  Mikaela opened her mouth, refusal clear on her face. But Ryan was faster. “Sure, why not. Mik seems to think the more she shoves in a box, the better. Doesn’t matter if it’s pillows or cast iron, the woman packs it tight.”

  With a grin at the woman, whose incredulous glare Ryan was apparently oblivious and impervious to, Gideon followed the Greek god back to the U-Haul. Nothing like hauling around cast iron to show off some muscles and make an impression on a pretty lady.

  There’s a New Witch in Town: Chapter Four

  She’d almost killed the sexiest man she’d ever met. Why was she surprised, considering everything else going wrong in her life?

  “I’m sorry about the damage,” Gideon said for the third time. “I should have watched where I was going. I’ll repair it for you, though.”

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I can’t believe you fell through my floor. I feel horrible.”

  Never let it be said a Lansing didn’t make a lasting first impre
ssion.

  Miki had spent the first half hour after Gideon arrived watching him from a safe distance. He looked just like her favorite carpenter hunk on one of those do-it-yourself shows. The same hunk she’d been having naughty dreams about. The ‘please don’t let me wake up yet, I want another orgasm’ type dreams.

  Who knew suddenly single would take on a whole new meaning to her nervous system when confronted by a real live sexy hunk? She’d finally got comfortable enough to try her hand at a little witty repartee, a few flirty remarks. He’d been so impressed, he’d hit the ground, face first.

  Of course, her magical whack upside his head might have had something to do with that. She’d seen the porch board start to crack under the weight of both him and the box of cookware. She’d sent a flurry of energy to the board, hoping to strengthen it. And watched Gideon promptly fall through as the board disappeared.

  With a sigh, she led the way back through the tiny hall of the house toward the kitchen, Gideon right behind her. Miki shoved and pushed at the stack of boxes in the minuscule excuse of a kitchen until she found the one labeled Sunset. Ripping open the packing tape, Miki found the kitchen linens she’d packed away eight years before and grabbed a towel. She soaked a cloth with cold water and turned to where Gideon stood, disheveled and dusty.

  He was gorgeous. All male in a way that made her very grateful she was female. Especially when he looked at her. Brown hair, streaked with golden highlights women paid a fortune for back in sunny California, brushed the collar of his denim work shirt. She eyed the hair visible above the top button of his shirt and bit back a sigh. After years of nearly-hairless Perry, this guy oozed testosterone.

  If she was honest, Miki figured Gideon Ross was yummier than chocolate-coconut-pecan cookies, and probably twice as bad for her. Because, like the cookies, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to stop at just a nibble or two. Nope, he was definitely a decadent overindulgence waiting for a midnight craving. And like any recovering chocoholic knew, the best way to resist temptation was to avoid it. The man was mortal. She was fresh out of a divorce. The combination made him poison. She’d do well to remember that.

  But she couldn’t send him off bleeding. Not when it was her fault he’d gotten hurt in the first place.

  “Here, let me wash that gash on your arm.” She gestured to the only piece of furniture in the room, a barstool painted peacock blue and decorated in a rainbow of checks, swirls, and swishes.

  Gideon gave the stool a doubtful look before settling on it. Miki figured he had to be over six feet, since she had to look up to him. With Gideon perched on the stool, they were eye to eye. She swallowed. Maybe she should open a window or something? The tiny kitchen was getting much too warm.

  “Bright,” he said, indicating the stool. Miki watched, oddly fascinated, as he pushed the rolled cuff of his sleeve from his forearm up to above his elbow. The hair on his arm was barely visible, it was so pale against the rich tan of his skin.

  “I like color.” Especially gold. Miki peeked through her lashes and noted the rich color of his eyes. Again. Not a hint of brown or green, they were pure golden whiskey. Quit acting like a love-struck groupie and get a grip. At least now she knew her hormones were alive and well. Miki’s lips quirked and she took his arm to wash the raw, three-inch scrape he’d gotten falling through her floor.

  “I can see you like color,” Gideon said with a little laugh. “The only neutral shade I’ve seen unloading that van is the brown of the boxes.”

  “That’s the only neutral you’ll ever see in my house,” Miki declared. She’d done her duty with boring. It was time for color, excitement, life. “And as soon as those are unpacked, they’ll be shoved out of sight.”

  Her final act before she’d left the Santa Monica house was to pack up all the furnishings, belongings—anything of value. She’d loaded it in the back of the moving van, driven to the storage unit she’d been paying on since before she’d married Perry, and swapped the blah-filled packing boxes for the rich tones she’d been deprived of for so long.

  “Shoved out of sight, not gotten rid of?” Gideon fished. Miki looked up from her ministrations to see curiosity clear in his golden gaze, her nerves suddenly stuttering as sexual awareness spiked though her system.

  Whoa, baby. Seven years of marriage had not left her equipped to deal with this level of attraction. Then again, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt this attracted.

  “No, this isn’t a permanent move,” she told him, trying to stay focused on the conversation. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”

  “Are you vacationing?”

  “More like searching,” she said with a laugh.

  “Just what is it you’re searching for?”

  How did he make such a simple question sound so suggestive? Visions filled her head, all sexual, all hot, all tempting. She bit her lip, not ready to go in that direction. She eyed the teasing little smile playing over his lips. Ready or not, her body was definitely interested. She wished there was a spell that would protect her from the effects of his charm. Of course, at the rate she was going, if there was and she tried it, she’d likely end up tossing him on the floor and screwing the poor guy’s brains out. Her magic was just that contrary.

  “I’m not sure what I’m searching for,” she finally said. “But I think I’m narrowing down the possibilities.”

  “There,” she said as she finished washing his scrape. She hoped he didn’t notice her slight breathlessness. “You should probably clean it with peroxide or something, just to make sure infection doesn’t set in. I’m sorry again. I feel awful that you fell while helping me out.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he assured her with a smile that flashed a hint of a dimple in his cheek. Miki’s insides did a little meltdown. He tugged his sleeve back in place while she rinsed the cloth. “This place is a disaster. I know for a fact no repairs have been done on it since it changed ownership a few years back. But the landlord just keeps renting it out, ignoring the repair requests. That guy should be sued. Hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t been.”

  Miki snickered.

  “Actually, I already filed suit against him,” she assured Gideon.

  “Huh? I thought you hadn’t seen the house until this morning.”

  “I hadn’t. The suit I filed was for divorce.”

  She was oddly pleased at how fast he got it. One golden brow quirked and he gave her an appraising look.

  “You own the place?”

  “I do now. Well,” she corrected, “I guess I have all along, but I had no idea until we were going through the settlement process that we owned this property.”

  She looked around at the tiny kitchen. Her old dining room table was bigger than this room. What a dump.

  Gideon looked around too, taking in the peeling wallpaper, ancient appliances, and cracked linoleum.

  “So, what? Your lawyer sucked?”

  Miki snorted a laugh and shook her head. “Nah, he’s the best. I wanted this property. I needed to get away for a while, and it’s perfect.”

  Well, she would have preferred a safe, decent house, obviously. But this one would have to do. At least here she’d have space and time to get her magic under control. And the freedom to figure out what she wanted—what she was going to do next. Apparently, remodeling would be on top of that list.

  “Perfect, huh? Sounds like California’s gone downhill since I was there.”

  “Let’s just say that I suddenly found California a little more crowded than I could stand.” Miki followed Gideon’s gaze around the room again and she gave a rueful laugh. “And now this place definitely needs a lot more help than I’d anticipated. No wonder it’s lost money, I can’t imagine anyone would want to rent a dump like this.”

  “Nobody has since the last tenant fell through the upstairs balcony last winter.”

  Miki’s jaw dropped.

  “It was a bunch of college kids who’d rented the place for skiing. Who knows how much other da
mage they did? Last I heard, Royce Martin, who owns Rossdale Real Estate, wasn’t even listing it anymore because he couldn’t get permission to do repairs.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Perry never was one to fix anything. He’s more an ignore-it-until-it’s-broken-then-toss-it-away kind of guy.” She looked around the ramshackle kitchen. The rest of the rooms were just as bad, or worse. Miki sucked in a deep breath. It looked like she now had a focus. To heck with wallowing in self-pity and caffeine. She’d pour her energy into the house and let the work distract her until she found the answers to all her problems. “I obviously have my work cut out for me. I don’t even know where to start, though.”

  “You were inside when I told your brother, but I’m a contractor. New homes, additions, you name it. I also run a handyman service. I’d be glad to help out, work up a list of what needs done and put in a bid.”

  “You’re a handyman?” Since she’d never repaired as much as a nail hole, a handyman might be... handy.

  “Yeah, and the first thing I’ll do is fix that porch board I busted.”

  “Good call,” she said with an uncomfortable laugh. “I’d hate to have anyone else fall through it. I’ll pay you for it, of course.”

  “No, you won’t,” Gideon said, distracting her from her financial freak-out. “I broke it, I’ll pay to repair it.”

  “It broke because...” she winced and corrected, “it’s old and rotten. That’s not your fault. This is my house, and I’ll be paying you to fix it,” Miki insisted. No matter what the state of her bank account, she was starting her new life as she meant to go on. In charge and in control. That meant paying her own way.

  “I’m not taking your money for something I broke.”

  Miki pressed her lips together, wondering if anyone ever said no to the guy. And if he ever listened.

  “Look, Gideon, I appreciate the offer. And I’d definitely like a bid on the work. But I’m telling you right now, I’ll be paying for any repairs to my house.”

  He stared silently for a few seconds and Miki held her breath. She could hear her heart beating in her ears, and had no clue why it was suddenly so important that a guy she’d only known an hour accepted her statement of authority.