Thresh

by Jasinda Wilder

  Her big brown eyes met mine, reflecting a welter of fear and confusion. "So you're...a mercenary?"

  I shrugged. "Sort of." I holstered the pistol behind my back, and then cupped her shoulder. "I can explain later, but right now we need to get you out of here. That guy out there wasn't alone."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Not sure, immediately. Anywhere but here. I have car close by, we just need to put some distance between us and the guys looking for us."

  "I still don't get why they'd want me. I barely know you." She tugged the edges of the robe tighter, which didn't help my concentration any, since it only served to mold the thin, damp cotton to her breasts.

  I forced my gaze away from her tits--there'd be time for that later...hopefully. "Leverage. If they can get you, they can use you to get to me."

  "Would it work?" she asked, staring up at me. "Could they get to you through me?"

  "Absolutely. Which is why I'm here, to make sure that doesn't happen. I can protect you, but you have listen to me. Right now, you need to get dressed."

  "How do I know this isn't some game to get me naked and in bed?"

  I gestured at the window. "Did that look like a game to you?" I moved closer to her until I was in her space, filling her vision. God, she smelled incredible, fresh out of the shower, still damp, shampoo and soap and lotion. "And besides, Doc, when I decide to get you naked and in bed, I won't need games to do it." I tugged her lower lip down with my thumb, watched her pupils dilate, her nostrils flare, her chest swell. "When I want you naked, Lola, it'll be my hands stripping your clothes off. And when I want you in bed, it'll be me tossing you where I want you."

  "Oh." It was a breath, a whisper.

  I trailed my index finger down her breastbone, between the edges of her robe, tugging it open just a little, down to the knotted belt. I tugged the end to untie it, and then I was treated to a widening gap of bare caramel flesh, the V of cleavage, the upper slopes of her incredible tits, a sliver of belly--I didn't allow myself to look any lower. Save that for later. Savor it. I let myself breathe in her scent, memorizing the precious glimpses of her body...

  And then I pushed her toward her bedroom. "Get going, Lola. Put some clothes on."

  She moved toward her bedroom, and I had to bite my lip and force myself to stay in place as the robe billowed open. A tug, and she'd be naked, facing me. All that flesh, all those sweet curves, bare for me.

  I growled from the effort necessary to keep myself where I was, hands to myself.

  Lola paused, glancing at me over her shoulder as she reached her bedroom door. "Why are you growling?"

  "Because we don't have time for what I want, and you're pushing the limits of my self-control."

  She frowned. "I'm not doing anything."

  "You don't have to do anything. You tempt me just by existing, Doc."

  Skin as dark as hers didn't really flush, but I could see it in the way she looked at me, in the pause, in the confused, pleased light in her eyes. Her mouth opened, but then closed again and she shut the door between us. Probably safest for her. Within a few minutes she emerged dressed in a pair of skin-tight black yoga pants and a tight orange tank top that highlighted the exotic shade of her skin and the unbelievable perfection of her tits, hair in a tight French braid, wearing a pair of old, worn, comfortable looking, and--most importantly--sensible Chucks. No makeup, she was dressed in ten minutes flat, including that fancy French braid.

  "Damn, girl, that was fast."

  She shrugged. "You gave me the impression that time is of the essence."

  "Sure as hell is, honey." I glanced out the window again, but didn't see anything amiss outside. "Grab your purse and any necessities. I'm not sure when we'll be coming back here."

  She unplugged her phone from the charger cord on the kitchen counter, tossed it in her purse, and slid the purse over her shoulder cross-body. "I have to work tomorrow."

  "Well...you'll have to call in sick or something. Not now, though. Once we're clear of immediate danger.

  "A couple things you need to understand before we really get started, okay? Number one, when we're on the move, in a hot situation--and I don't mean sexy hot, I mean people trying to hurt us hot--you do as I say, when I say, and you do not ever hesitate. That's most important." I cupped my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her closer to me. Let her see the truth in my eyes. "Second, just as important, is that no matter what you see me do, know that I'll never ever hurt you, or let anyone hurt you. Okay? You don't need to be afraid of me."

  She frowned. "You're scaring me a little, Thresh."

  I drew my Sig Sauer. "You should be a little scared. I'll get you through this, but...it ain't gonna be a walk in the park. Now, yank open your door, but don't put yourself in view of the opening. As soon as it's open, get behind me and stay tight on my ass. We're live, baby."

  Adrenaline was pumping, shooting through me, pulsing in my veins. Lola stood to the left of the door, leaned over, twisted the knob and, on my nod, jerked it open, staying out of the opening. As soon as she had the door open, I was through, pistol aimed through the frame; the hallway was empty, but I heard a voice echoing in the stairwell, speaking in low tones in the same Eastern European language the guy in the car had used.

  I motioned for Lola to stay where she was, replaced my gun in its holster, drew my knife--no sense making more noise than I had to, or using rounds that might come in useful later.

  The hallway was clear to the elevator, so I motioned for Lola to join me at the doorway to the stairwell. I had her open the stairwell door for me, listened, heard nothing.

  We descended, Lola close behind me, down to the first floor.

  Something warned me. That unease.

  I held the KA-BAR so the cutting edge was facing up, easing forward on silent feet to stand beside the stairwell exit. I waited, tensed, barely breathing. I blocked out Lola, blocked out my own nerves; if you're not a little nervous, a little scared going into a fight, then you're either crazy or a liar, and I'm neither.

  I watched as the doorknob to the stairwell door twisted, and then the door swung inward, and a body appeared in the doorway.

  He saw me, I saw him...

  I struck first, and I struck hardest. There's a spot, on the left side of the body, midway up the torso. Angle the blade to slide in under the ribcage....

  He hit the ground like a sack of meat, blinking, gasping, dying.

  I wiped the blade on his clothes, hauled him fully into the stairwell out of view of the thankfully-empty lobby, and then straightened.

  Lola had seen the whole thing. When someone with the kind of dark, exotic skin that Lola had went pale as a ghost...ugh, not good. Not good at all.

  I sheathed the knife, kept my hands visible, and approached her slowly. "Lola. He had a gun, okay? These guys aren't playing around."

  She backed away from me. "You--you just..." She jabbed her fist upward in a parody of the move I just used. "It was...like...easy. So fast. You just--killed him. He never even had a chance."

  "That's the point, babe." I got a little closer, keeping my voice low and smooth and soothing. "No point in giving him an opportunity to hurt me, or you. My job is to keep you alive, and out of the hands of the bad guys. I'm not gonna fuck around."

  She just blinked at me. "You've done that before. Lots of times."

  I sighed. "Yes, Lola. I'm not gonna lie about it. It's part of my job."

  "That's why you told me I don't need to be afraid of you."

  I nodded, and she let me get within touching distance. I put my hand on her arm, then slid it up to cup her neck, which seemed to calm her nerves for some reason. "I can do bad things, but only to people who deserve it, okay? You really don't want to know what could happen to you if these guys get hold of you. Now...we gotta move. I know there are at least two more out there, and I got no time to deal with the cops once the body gets reported."

  She started shaking when she passed the corpse on the floor, with the
pool of blood spreading beneath him.

  "Don't look, Lola," I said, drawing my Sig. "You don't need to see that."

  She shook her head, and looked away, and then we were trotting down the stairs. "I'm a doctor, Thresh. I did my rounds in the ER, and I work in the ICU. I've lost patients before. I've seen dead people before."

  I beckoned for her to follow me across the lobby. "Yeah, I get that. But it's different when you watched the person get killed in front of you. Even fixing gunshot wounds like you did for me is different than fixing gunshot wounds you watched occur. Dealing with the aftereffects of violence is not quite the same thing as being involved in the violence."

  She shuddered. "So I'm learning."

  Once we hit the street, I put away my pistol and draped my shirt tail over it, then took Lola's hand in mine, threading our fingers together. There was no sign of cameras, which meant hopefully, given the fact that I'd worn gloves and that there hadn't been any witnesses, there wouldn't be any way to trace either the unconscious guy in the car or the dead guy in the stairwell back to me. What I did see was a Range Rover a couple blocks away inching around the corner toward us with two men in it; one of them lifted a cell phone, dialed a number, and held the phone to his ear; he spoke briefly, and then ended the call.

  "Shit." I tugged Lola into a power walk, away from the scene, toward the Jeep.

  "What is it?" Her voice was surprisingly even and steady, considering the events of the last few minutes.

  "We've been made."

  "What does that mean in normal person lingo?"

  "It means that Range Rover over there is a very bad thing, and those two guys in it are very bad men."

  "What about the good guys? Does the man you work for, Harris, does he know you're in trouble?"

  We reached the Jeep, and I gestured for Lola to get in. "I'm assuming he does by now. I made a call of my own. We should have help at some point, but for now...we're on our own."

  Once in the Jeep, I started the engine and pulled away, resisting the impulse to floor it. We didn't need attention, just now. The Range Rover followed closely behind us.

  Things were about to get fun, and quick.

  I turned left at the nearest intersection, and as soon as I was around the corner, I buried the pedal. The engine roared, torque kicked in, and we were both pressed back into the bucket seats as the powerful SUV leaped forward, hauling ass past the slower-moving cars. I had to do a bit of creative driving, jinking and swerving into oncoming traffic, back into the proper lane, then far right, left again...I chanced a glance in my mirrors, and saw the Rover following close behind, wending its own route through the traffic.

  "Which way to a freeway?" I asked.

  She blinked, hesitating a split second to think. "Left here," she said, giving me just barely enough time to hit the brakes and drift around the corner, tires squealing, smoke curling, the suspension doing its damnedest to keep us level as centripetal force fought to push us into a roll.

  Two blocks passed in a matter of seconds, but it felt like minutes as I constantly swerved and braked to avoid cars and pedestrians and buses. Then she indicated left again, and then a right after another few blocks, and then the on-ramp was angling away and down. I hit the gas hard and we barreled down the on-ramp and onto the freeway, which one I wasn't sure and I really didn't care. Away, that was all I cared about.

  It was oddly calm and quiet for a minute despite the fact I was doing 110mph and was still accelerating. The Rover was behind us, seemingly content to merely follow us for now. No shootouts on the freeway, I guess? I wasn't complaining. Hitting anything from a moving vehicle is hard enough as it is, much less trying to manage it one-handed. God, seriously, fuck this gimpy arm.

  I kept an eye on our pursuers, who stayed a couple of car lengths back. When it became obvious they weren't going to mount a mobile assault, I backed off the accelerator until we were back to legal speeds.

  Once we were cruising smoothly, Lola dug out her cell phone and called the hospital, claiming an unexpected family emergency that would keep her occupied for several days. After that, we drove in silence for a while, passing out of Miami and away from the urban and suburban areas.

  "Where are we going?" Lola asked.

  I shrugged. "No idea. They're just following us for now." I eyed her, noting her thoughtful expression. "Why? You got an idea?"

  She bobbed her head side to side in a maybe gesture. "Well, there is a place, but...I'm hesitant for a couple of reasons. First, it's hard to get to, which is part of the reason I'm even considering it, but when I say hard to get to, I'm really not kidding. Remote doesn't even begin to cover it. Second, I really don't like the idea of leading anyone there, because it's...it's my dad's place. I don't want to pull him into this mess, too. He's...kind of a hermit."

  I considered. "Where are we talking?"

  "He's got this place way down in the Ten Thousand Islands area, the kind of place you have to know exactly how to get into and out of, or you'll be totally lost forever."

  "And you know how to get there?"

  She nodded. "Yeah. I half grew up there. It was our summer getaway. We'd pack up as soon as school let out and take his boat out there, and we wouldn't come back until the day before I started school again. Then, when Mom died, Dad moved out there full-time. Hasn't left since. He has this friend who delivers supplies, and I visit him sometimes when I can." We were nearing an exit ramp for a different freeway, and she directed me to take that exit, which put us on a smaller, two-lane highway heading south and west out away from Miami.

  "So I'm assuming it's not accessible via a vehicle," I said.

  She snorted. "Yes, Thresh, there's a nice highway leading right up to my dad's handmade cabin deep in the Everglades." Not only did I get the snort and the sarcasm, I also got an eye roll. Bonus points. "That's the tricky part." She looked at me sidelong, chewing on a thumbnail. "I'm kind of assuming you didn't just happen to purchase this vehicle since arriving in Miami..."

  I twisted my fist around the leather of the steering wheel. "Not...exactly, no. I more...borrowed it. Firmly."

  She snickered. "Which means you bashed some poor asshole over the head and stole his very nice Jeep?"

  I pretended to bluster as if I was offended. "I would never bash some poor asshole over the head and steal his very nice Jeep." I affected an arch tone. "I have standards, I'll have you know. For your information, I held him up at knifepoint and stole his Jeep. But I was polite."

  She raised both eyebrows. "You politely stole a vehicle at knifepoint?"

  "Yep. Didn't even hurt him--" I tipped my head to the side with a shrug of one shoulder, "--much. Just a little tiny, itty-bitty spot where I pricked him with the knife. Won't even need a Band-Aid."

  She eyed me. "Well. I certainly wouldn't like to know what it looks like when you're not being polite about something."

  I shot a glance in the mirror, checking for our pursuers; they looked a tad bored. I'd have to make things interesting for them, at some point.

  "You've seen it," I said. "It can get...messy."

  That silenced her for a moment. "I see. I guess I can understand why you'd be upset, all things considered."

  I laughed outright. "Upset? I'm not upset at all. This is a bit of fun, so far. It'd be better if I hadn't gotten shot, but then these are the same guys who put the bullets in me in the first place, and I did a number on them during the last op, so I'm kind of looking at this as...retribution, for both sides."

  A few more moments of silence went by, and then she glanced at me again. "What was the op? I mean, if I'm gonna get dragged into some shit out of a Jason Bourne movie, I might as well know why."

  I debated about what to tell her, and then figured she deserved to know the truth for the reasons she gave. "First, when I said I was a security contractor, I really did mean that. We generally provide personal security for high-profile clients on an event-by-event basis. Like when some A-list celebrity is doing some big flashy event and
they want to beef up their normal security, they'll hire us. My job is usually to be big and scary and intimidating, honestly. So, for the most part, I'm not a mercenary, I'm a security contractor." I paused to change lanes, accelerating around a slow-moving RV. "But sometimes a job comes our way that's...not as simple."

  "Like killing people?"

  I didn't have to affect the offended tone of voice. "I'm not a fucking assassin, Lola."

  "Well shit, Thresh, I know next to nothing about you, so how am I supposed to know? You killed that guy with laughable ease. You don't even seem affected. I didn't mean to offend you but, if you look at it from my perspective for a second, it's not a completely outlandish assumption."

  "I guess you have a point," I said. "The jobs I'm talking about are things that go beyond the bounds of basic security. We're not contract killers, we're a threat-removal team. An insert-and-extraction team. If someone needs security against an active threat, where there's real possibility of danger, you call us. The job that caused all this fuckery was...different, even for us."

  Lola pivoted in her seat so she was partially facing me, openly and avidly listening, now.

  I sighed and drove with my knee while I rubbed the back of my neck, then re-took the wheel. "You know the actors Jon Lonigan and Callie MacPhereson?"

  Lola snorted. "Um, duh?"

  "Right. Well, they have a daughter, three years old. Cleo. Cute little thing, blond hair, blue eyes, innocent, and sweet as sugar." I let out a breath. "She got kidnapped. It was...messy. The guys who snatched her did it in broad daylight, nearly killed the nanny in the process. Sent a ransom note with a photograph of some asshole with a big fuck-off knife to this little girl's throat. Harris did security for a friend of Lonigan's, so Harris got the call. Go get the girl. Cost was no object, and he didn't want to know the details of how we did it. Just get his little girl back. So we did what we do: we got the girl back.

  "Only, it wasn't exactly simple. The tangos who snatched Cleo weren't just some hack thugs. It was a professional job--people Harris ran into back in his black-ops days. Evil fuckers, and smart ones to boot. Coordinated, well-armed, trained, and with serious numbers. The guy in charge found out Harris was involved, and it turns out the two had bad blood between them. They planned to ambush us, so we set up a counter ambush--" I waved a hand, not wanting to go too heavy on the details, for both our sakes. "Things got hot, and fast. The whole thing went sideways. We barely got away, and we took out most of Cain's guys in the process, but not Cain himself, and Cain never got his ransom money. So now we have one seriously pissed-off European mobster, and this guy...he has money, he has connections, and he's just arrogant enough to think he can take on Harris and win."