THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  We fall asleep almost immediately after I free her and she snuggles into me with a sigh of contentment.

  “Love you, Storm.”

  “Love you too, sugar.”

  I just wish she would love me enough to give me all of her.

  ***

  I rouse later to the sound of my phone after falling into a sleep right after Lenny went to shower and came back all kissing up on me and ready for a snuggle.

  I’ve hardly slept at all as I check the time on my phone and groan. Two hours maybe, after the little she-devil rode me like a cowgirl.

  “You better be half-dead or on the way there, Jericho.”

  “Man, would I call you otherwise, after the ear blistering you gave me yesterday? That shooter? We have a lead. It’s small, but it’s better than the nothing we had, man.”

  That has me sitting up and alert instantly, my mood and lack of sleep forgotten as the thrill of the chase starts pumping through me.

  I’m not called The Watcher for nothing, and having my eyesight cut off without one lead as to the name or whereabouts of the man who saved my woman has been gnawing at me.

  “Tell me.”

  “Not over the phone. You know I suspect this guy is ex-Army, at the least. I won’t compromise this lead over the line, bro. You want in, you have to come in and get your lazy ass to work.”

  I don’t want to leave, not even if Lenny is safe now and tucked away in my home. Tomorrow is her first day at her practice and I want to be there. I just, dammit, I can’t just ignore this. Not now that I could be close to finding out why someone was taking shots at men out to kill her.

  Call me curious, but I want to know why, and I certainly want a chance to thank the man for what he did.

  “Dammit. I’ll leave in an hour. This better pan out, if I’m missing her first day at work man.”

  Jericho snorts and doesn’t bother to answer, just ends the call.

  “Sugar, wake up and listen to me, please.”

  It takes a minute for her corpse-like posture to stiffen, and then my little enigma is wide-awake and bushy-tailed, smiling up at me with a sweetness that grips my heart and yanks.

  “Hmmm? You okay, babe?”

  “I have to leave in an hour. Jericho has a lead on something and they need me.”

  Why I feel blessed that she’s excited for me is beyond me, but I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I fell for the least clingy woman on the planet.

  “M’kay. Just be careful? And give me a kiss before you leave, you sexy beast. Hhhmm. I’ll be waiting on you.”

  “God, woman. Keep that up and I’m staying.” I laugh, kissing her back to sleep before gathering my gear and heading out.

  Chaser chuffs at me as I reset the alarm and I tell him to guard Lenny before closing the door and making for the truck.

  I’m so damn excited, even as I look back at my home and my honey waiting on me, that it only hits me halfway back to the city that the little sneak must have had a hand in this.

  Damn woman. I’m so lucky to have her.

  ***

  Lenny

  The last week has been a thrill, and the longest one of my life. I’m so busy that I only lock up by seven at night and then start again twelve hours later, thanking my stars for the years of sleeplessness that have prepared me for this hectic pace.

  Whoever said small town life was slow was a fucking idiot because I have never been this busy in my life, not even with double caseloads and two shifts a day.

  I’m happy, though, really happy, as I drag my butt home and fall onto the sofa where Chaser is waiting for some hugs and kisses.

  The only dark spot so far has been missing my Storm, something I refuse to admit to every time he calls me just to check up on me. I like that he sounds so happy and stress-free now that he’s not constantly worrying about me. And I really like that he can talk to me now without having to throttle back or go into one of his moody silences.

  I am worried though, because the lead he and the boys got on—I still don’t know, but I’m calling it “Top Secret from Lenny”—led them to Greece and then on to some Middle Eastern country that makes me sweat just thinking about them being there.

  Part of me is happy that my man is a tough, kickass soldier boy with mad skills, and the other part of me that pouts like a girl is just plain worried and praying that he’ll be okay.

  “Well, Chaser, old buddy. Looks like it’s just me and you again. You want some steak for supper? Yeah, me too. Oh, did I mention that Jill got some nasty crotch ooze from the smooth talker she was dating? Mama had to get all up in her junk and get it sorted out before her vagina started looking like processed meat.”

  I keep talking as I fire up the burner and put the steaks on before throwing a salad together and grabbing a glass of tea.

  My nights, while not lonely, are definitely starting to wear thin, considering Chaser is my only conversation until Storm calls and the poor male is not a talker.

  It’s been just a week, I think, as I eat my food, jabbering the whole while, but I am pretty sure I can safely say that I am all in and ready for commitment, whether Storm starts believing and trusting in me or not. What the hell, anyway. I mean, I have fifty years or more to train the man, don’t I?

  My phone rings and I fall on the thing, choking when I swallow without chewing.

  “Babe? You will not believe what happened today.”

  I keep talking and only fall silent when I don’t hear one of his customary laughs as I keep chattering.

  “Storm?”

  “Tell them to stop looking or things won’t end well.”

  Er. Okay. This is ominous, and I am suddenly wishing like hell that Storm was here to take care of this because, well, because he’s the man, and nothing scares him! I’m a girl, and I freak out if a tree hits the window.

  “Who is this?”

  “Your guardian angel, little lady. Tell Storm to stop looking.”

  “What are you talking about?” I huff, getting all kinds of chilled when the voice laughs and distorts in the way those sound box things do.

  “I was there. In the park. I made sure those bullets missed you.”

  Huh. Interesting. Suddenly I am not at all creeped out anymore, as the chance for information becomes available.

  “I swear; I am gonna kick his ass for not telling me this. That man. Land sakes. Kelly was right. You have to train them and make sure they understand that we are equal partners. You know what I’m saying?”

  The laughter only slightly grates on me this time, and I giggle a little when it doesn’t stop for a good long while.

  “I see why the fool loves you so much, Lenny, sweetheart. Tell them to stop looking. It’s not the right time yet.”

  “Wait! Er, why did you help us?” I rush when I know he’s going to end the call.

  I may be crazy, but I consider this person a friend for whatever help he gave us. I knew, really, that someone had helped, but Storm, that bastard, is so tight-lipped about anything that resembles me being, or having been in danger, that he just snarls whenever I ask questions.

  I need answers and, since I now have a brand new friend, I may as well get some.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  Riiiiight. That is so not helpful.

  “So, uh, call tomorrow? I’m kinda lonely and all, and I’m short on sane friends.”

  “You shouldn’t tell people so freely that you’re all alone in that big house out in the country, Lenny; it’s not safe,” the voice huffs.

  “Oh please. You got my number, so I am assuming you already knew that, and anyway, the security would stop a fart from getting to me, so don’t try to scare me. I am one hundred percent safe. Storm wouldn’t leave any other way.”

  “God, that lucky sonofabitch. I’ll call soon, just for the hell of it, I guess. Now, don’t forget.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Deliver ominous message, I got it. Be safe, guardian angel. Toodles.”

  I hang up to laughter and the fe
eling that, whatever is going on, I have no reason to fear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lenny

  The next week marks the second full week that I am alone and without my snuggle bunny. I don’t like this anymore, not at all, and I freaking rue the day I answered Storm’s call and gave him that message because it just seemed to spur the man on and lengthen his mission.

  And I miss him, dammit! I need snuggles and sex and his brooding presence right now, especially since I skipped my dreaded period and I do not feel that hot. I blame Jill and her crotch cooties for my mood though, because she is still screwing crab crotch Jim and going gaga for his blue eyes and old boy swagger when, in reality, the man is a whore and spreading his VD all over the county.

  “Damn idiocy is what it is,” I mutter, slamming yet another Z pack down on her desk.

  “Truuuuue love.”

  “True stories of the poor and shameless, more like.”

  “Oh, stop being so darn crotchety, little mama. He’ll be back soon to hold the pee stick and clean up your varmint vomit.”

  “Shut up. We are not talking about me and Storm; we are talking about you VD, Jillie! Stop boffing Venereal Vince and move on to cleaner pastures already. I refuse to look at your meaty lady lips again this month, and that is that.”

  She just pouts and grabs the Z pack and ointment I keep having to special order for her from the city and reminds me that Mama and Pete are coming in tomorrow for a visit.

  I miss Storm. Dammit. The man better call me before midnight tonight or his ass is grass, I think, clearing my desk before hitting the light and joining Jill at the door.

  My drive home is oh-so-quiet and spooky, thanks much for no streetlights, guys. I snort as I key the remote and head straight for the garage, my ass so tired I don’t even think I can manage a thing beside peanut butter, a spoon, and a glass of milk.

  Showering quickly, I change into one of Storm’s shirts and hit the bed, opting for bedtime TV instead of Chaser and his exuberance tonight.

  Dammit, feed your kid, Lenny.

  I mutter a curse and trudge down the darkened stairs, realizing belatedly that I never saw or heard Chasie tonight.

  “Pookie bear? Where are you, Mama’s darling? Come on now, Chaser, stop fucking around. Mama isn’t feeling good and Daddy is gonna call any minute. Chaser?”

  Dammit. Please tell me he didn’t wangle through the doggy door again and get himself stuck outside! I’m about as ready to stomp around in all that blackness as I am to jump into a shark infested tank.

  Noooo.

  “Chaser! Chaser, do not make Mama come out there in the dark. Please. I’m freaked out and ready to wet my legs, baby. Chaser!”

  I call for what feels like hours, until my throat is raw, my fright and remorse for swearing him at all making me sob with every call.

  “Chaaaaaaaase!”

  I almost shit my drawers when the home phone starts screaming and I lunge at it like a life line.

  “I can’t find Chaser,” I pant, my sobs turning into something that is reminiscent of whimpering and all-out fear as I keep glancing around, all but ready to see some monster jump at me from the shadows.

  “Get to your car now.”

  Not Storm, but that voice I’m now so familiar with. The fact that he hasn’t bothered with a hello scares me half to death, and I freeze on the spot, clutching the phone with a death grip.

  “Chaser.”

  “Get to your car now and get into town, Lenny! Now!”

  I run. Dressed in only a shirt and panties that cover nothing, and the tears I can’t stop, I run for the hall table, grab my keys, and dash for the garage door.

  The lights go out just before I reach it and I end up hitting the door as I slip and trip before I can correct. I can’t see a thing as I pull myself up and blink into the dark and, for whatever reason, I have the distinct fear that, if I go into the garage, I won’t make it.

  My phone screams from upstairs and I bolt that way, not thinking clearly, just needing not to be alone right now. I half-kill myself traversing the stairs and stub my baby toe running into the room, but I manage to lock the door and dive for the bed.

  “The power is out and I can’t find Chaser and I’m scaaaaared!”

  “Lenny! Get into the closet, sugar. I’m on my way home now. I am almost with you, baby. Closet. Now.”

  Boy, I really wish I reacted sooner, I think, as a dark shadow looms over me and a pillow hits my face.

  It’s deja vu all over again and, I can say with utter shame, that I am as ill-prepared for it as I was over a month ago when Jed tried to smother me.

  Please Jesus, if you help me out here, I swear I will never crack another smother joke again. In Storm’s company, I amend, covering my bases. I hit and kick and go nuts, turning my face to search for some air as I try to dislodge the truck sitting on my chest.

  He doesn’t budge a muscle, just seems to push harder, and I feel my strength waning sharply as the terror tries to drag me under. Not like this, not with…I never took that pregnancy test because, well, I am a coward and I wanted Storm here and…

  And I can’t think baby right now, when someone is trying to kill me! Have a heart.

  But I do think baby, and thinking baby finally calms me enough to start thinking a little more clearly, which leads me to something as yet forgotten. Car keys. In my hand. Weapon.

  Storm has been trying to show me self-defense moves, and I am not the most apt of pupils. I’m lazy and moody about exercise, but one thing he has drilled into me like a bastard is that everything, even a marshmallow, can be a weapon.

  Grabbing the last bit of strength I have, I flip the key between my fingers, pull my arm back and stab up, praying that my aim is true, since I can’t see.

  Big smother guy jerks on top of me and I feel him list a little, enough for me to make my move. Shoving up with my arms and hips, I shove him back as hard as I can and slither back, falling off the bed in a slump.

  No time to breathe yet, Lenny. Move.

  I obey on adrenaline alone and ignore the gurgling behind me and the wetness between my fingers, wrenching at the door with all my might. I practically slide down the stairs on my ass when I trip—give me a break, this place is so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face—but regain my footing and duck right, going for the kitchen and the moonlight that might help me some.

  A few things here. I am not the most graceful of beings. That is to be expected, since I slouch around everywhere with the enthusiasm of a sloth, and I definitely am not a ninja. So color me green with envy for my inner demoness when I see something dart at me and lash out with a throat punch, my momentum never halting.

  I make it to the kitchen at a dead run, slip on something gross and warm on the floor—think about that later! No time to clean, you freak—and run out of the open door like an Olympic sprinter going for the record.

  The grass is cold and prickly beneath my feet as I keep going, ignoring the stitch in my side and the certainty that looking back will freak me the hell out. I’m no soldier, no fighter, hell, I cried yesterday when a paper cut felled me—it hurts!—but I refuse to give up the wedding I told Mama to start planning, sans ugly dress.

  And I point-blank refuse to die before proposing to Storm like I am supposed to. It came to me in a dream, okay? Fuck off if you don’t like it. That’s just the way cool chicks like me roll.

  I also refuse to give anyone the satisfaction of killing me, because that would hurt Storm, and I love Storm. No one hurts my man without me having something to say about it.

  We’ll discuss my weird reasoning later.

  For now, I keep running, hobbling a little when I twist my ankle and almost fall. I look weird, I know I must, as I keep going, favoring my right ankle as pain shoots up my leg.

  I have no notion of where I’m going, only that I can’t stop, and I wouldn’t have, really, honest, but I trip over something big and crash into the grass in a sprawled mess, turning just in time to s
ee someone running my way.

  I would pee right now, maybe oo a little, but the man suddenly jerks, stops, and falls face down, the crack of a shot ringing out around me.

  I’m so shocked, I don’t realize what it is I’m caressing until I look down to see Chaser in front of me.

  “Oh no! Chase?”

  He’s dead. I know he is even as I fall on him and start sobbing like a loon. I should be running still, but I can’t. My ankle hurts, my side is burning like a wax job gone wrong, and my heart is in shreds as my poor baby …

  “Lenny!”

  I have no strength to answer, don’t even to look up as I hear that roar and the resulting sounds of gunfire and male shouts. I’m just slumped over and done as Storm falls on me, grabbing at me as if I’m all he can see.

  “Sugar? Look at me. Sugar! Are you okay? Did one of them touch you? Are you hurt?”

  “My ankle. Twisted it when I was running. Chaser,” I sob into his chest.

  “Aw shit. Goddammit. Jericho! Get King over here. They hurt my fucking dog.”

  Is this the part where I should be all Barbed Wire cool and go all Scarlett O’Hara and prove my mettle?

  I pass out.

  ***

  Nick

  She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine.

  I keep repeating the mantra over and over as my heart keeps trying to bust out of my chest. My poor sugar has been out for the last hour as the men cleaned up the house and got the cops involved in hauling the bodies away.

  Those assholes sent five ex-military goons after one little woman and her dog? Even I know that’s overkill, and I never go into a mission unprepared. Although, judging by the dead guy with a key stuck in his neck, my sugar may be well on the way to passing her training after all, I think, chortling slightly at the irony of it.

  Weeks ago, the woman couldn’t have blocked a punch if she tried, and tonight she stabbed a guy with a key and crushed another’s windpipe. I’m rubbing off on her, yes indeed.

  That, and that alone, is the only reason I haven’t torn this place apart yet, other than the fact that I’m pretty sure that the very man we’ve been looking for saved her again tonight.