Shielding Shayna: Brotherhood Protectors World (Special Forces & Brotherhood Protectors Series Book 6)

by Heather Long

  Oddjob ignored the jab. He’d ridden it more in the interest of getting back to Shayna quickly without considering any problems the vehicle might have. As a point of discipline, he went over the off road vehicle looking for any devices. He’d cleared his share of roadside devices and car bombs. Still, even knowing what to look for—if they’d been moving at a faster pace earlier they would have suffered more than the concussive force of the cabin explosion.

  That more than anything else pissed him off.

  “I can ride, but I’m not sure I’m up to driving it.” Shayna said quietly when she joined him.

  “I got this,” he assured her. He climbed on and waited for her to settle on the seat behind him. She only gripped him with her left hand and it took her a moment to get her right foot in the proper position. No matter how long it took, he would wait. “Say when.”

  “I’m good.” A catch turned her voice husky. Despite her declaration, he accelerated slowly and let her acclimate to the roughness of the ground and the speed. He took the ATV past the barn. The driveway was gravel, not great for picking up tracks. Angling from the barn he headed up to the house. He wouldn’t sleep until he’d gone over every inch of the buildings and they got the results of the explosive tests.

  At the house, he waited for her to dismount before he slid off. “How much grief are you going to give me if I ask you to wait here while I do a sweep of the house?”

  “Not as much as I will if you go in and get killed if it blows.” Was that a hint of a smile? “Besides, two sets of eyes will be better than one and I’d have trouble with the stairs. So you start there and I’ll start downstairs. Not that we really know what the hell we’re looking for.”

  Eyeing the house for a moment, he considered the obstacles. “How stuffed is the interior?”

  “It’s not—we just got the downstairs liveable, and the rooms upstairs are mostly empty.”

  “Then we check the obvious spots. Electrical. Water heater. Look for what doesn’t belong.”

  “Sound plan.” Then she took point, heading up the short three steps to the wide verandah decorating the front of the house. Her steps were halting, and slow. She was hurting more than she’d confessed.

  Torn between sending her to sit her ass down and rest and trusting her to handle herself, he stalked behind her. Inside, the house was as large as it looked from the exterior. The front doors opened into a huge, empty foyer with three rooms visibly open to it—a big sitting room and beyond it an oversized kitchen, another room that looked like a second sitting room, and an office straight ahead. A hallway cut towards the back—likely another access for the kitchen and maybe some secondary rooms.

  He cut right and up the winding staircase to the second floor. “Is there a basement?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll check it as soon as I’m done up here.” He didn’t wait for her response, but cleared the second floor in record time. She hadn’t been kidding—the wood floor was bare, and scuffed in places. It needed a good polishing. The bedrooms were bare of any furniture, though there were some paint cans, and tools—including a couple of new frames for windows leaning against the wall in some of them. The bathrooms were bare, the plumbing new, but still requiring the wipe down following an install.

  He located an attic door and checked there, checked the plumbing, and then eyed the wall switches.

  If he wanted to take down a house, he might set a fuse to the wiring—flip a switch and let it set off a fire within the walls.

  Nothing was turned on upstairs and she clearly wasn’t sleeping up here. Abandoning the second floor, he hurried down and found her in the kitchen, staring at the stove. “Is it hot?”

  “No…” She didn’t look away to answer him. “But if I were going to create an incendiary in a house, I’d find a way to tie it into the gas—maybe a slow leak, then ignite it. Hard to escape and fast burning.”

  He didn’t smell gas. “I’d use the electrical system. Wire it into one of the wall switches, use the flick of the power to set off a fuse, and start it running through the walls…place like this once the walls go—the fire would spread rapidly.”

  She cut her gaze toward him, and lifted her brows. Lines of tension radiated from the corners of her eyes as she frowned. “Or a combo platter…loosen the gas somewhere, start the slow leak, set off the wall switch and…”

  “Boom.” Oddjob held Shayna’s gaze for a long moment.

  “I need my meds, my bedroom is this way.” She was already heading there. “We need to call…”

  “…someone to do an indepth sweep. Where’s the gas valve?” He wanted it turned off. Then they’d go over the barn.

  “In the basement, but there’s an emergency valve outside.”

  He followed the trail of her voice and hesitated at the door. The bedroom was on the first floor, tucked behind the office with its bare wooden walls and a desk with a pile of reading material and a laptop. Shayna grabbed a Ziploc bag full of prescription bottles and tossed it into a duffel bag, even at her shuffling and halting step, she kept moving.

  “Can you get my laptop from the office, and anything else on the desk?”

  “On it.”

  Five minutes later, they stood outside with a backpack and a duffel bag, staring at the house. He’d shut off the gas valve and though he’d maintained his focus, he couldn’t stop the internal seething. The whole point of taking the job was to protect her, and less than 24 hours on site and he’d already exposed her to one explosion and had her evacuate her house.

  “Could be worse,” Shayna said, a faint smile curving her lips. “We could be less trained to identify all the ways this could go bad.”

  A chuckle worked its way through him and he shook his head. “Not sure I’d call that a plus, but I hear you.”

  She swayed a step as she turned toward the barn. “I’m not sure I want to ride the ATV again.” Her right leg wasn’t quite keeping up with the left and if he hadn’t been watching her, he might have missed the way her gaze dipped to her feet before she straightened her stance.

  “Then we walk. I’ve been through the whole barn this morning.” And it had only been unattended for a few minutes. Whoever was harassing her wasn’t some prankster. A prankster wouldn’t blow up a building. “You can use the apartment and get off your feet if you need it.” The last part he tacked on with a wince. He wanted her off her feet, but he didn’t get a say—at least not yet.

  “That sounds great, but the picnic table will do.” Resignation discolored her voice.

  “It’s hardly comfortable…” It took a moment, but her halting pace struck him. She was moving even slower now than earlier. The limp was far more pronounced, and every step included a harsher exhale from her. “I can carry you up the stairs, Shayna. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to carry a leatherneck after a battle.”

  She snorted, then released a weak chuckle. The earlier breeze gained some strength, and she reached up to push the dark hair away from her neck revealing a network of scars. Rather than stare, he jerked his attention back to the area around them. The sheriff’s SUV currently made its way down the drive.

  “Let’s talk to him first, then if I’m not feeling up to it, I’ll take you up on the offer.”

  The lack of argument didn’t reassure him. If anything, it worried him even more. A woman like Shayna didn’t ask for help easily—not even one trained by the military to rely on the guy in front of you and the guy behind. Her being a woman had far less to do with it than her being injured enough she was willing to rely on the assist.

  Fine, he’d make sure they had a quick conversation with the sheriff.

  The conversation took far longer than he cared for, made worse when Hank and Bear joined them. Twice the sheriff consulted Oddjob about something to do with Celebrate—he rather liked the upbeat name for her project—and Oddjob redirected him the first time, then set him straight on the second. Shayna spent most of the conversation on her feet. Hank took the sheriff back to look
at the destruction, and Shayna thankfully decided to skip the return visit.

  Waiting only long enough for the others to be out of sight, Oddjob raised his eyebrows at her.

  “Yes,” she managed, and he didn’t need any other encouragement. Lifting her carefully, he carried her up the stairs. Despite her trim, athletic build, he carried her up the stairs swiftly. In his arms, she couldn’t hide the fact she trembled or downplay the fact that her right hand was almost entirely cramped in a claw formation.

  Setting her on the sofa, he deposited her bags on the coffee table. “What do you need?”

  “Water,” she said with a grimace. “And my pills.”

  He dug out the Ziploc bag he’d seen earlier, then diverted to the kitchen. A truck pulled in to the drive as he filled a glass with water. It avoided the barn and went straight for the house. Eyes narrowed, he kept watch until he saw Swede exiting the truck and another man stepping out of the passenger side. Oddjob couldn’t remember his name, but he and his wife had been visiting with Hank and Sadie when Oddjob had stopped by there a couple of days before.

  They had equipment with them—probably a search and scan of the house. Trusting them to do their job, he returned to his companion. Eyes closed, she leaned her head back. The pill bottles were lined up on the coffee table and she cupped several in the palm of her hand.

  “Is it bad enough I should get a medic to look at you?” He’d told Hank to bring one, but she hadn’t been interested earlier.

  “No, it’s not that bad—I’m just that weak.” She sat forward and accepted the water glass, then took the pills two at a time and washed them down with a drink.

  “Pain is just weakness leaving the body—which makes you the least weak person I know.” Her pallor on the other hand served as a stark reminder that she wasn’t in good shape.

  “Fair point,” she said, cracking another wan smile. “I do okay most days—but as evidenced by the cabin, I’m not up for full on field work.”

  “Well, we’ll let it slide. Mission ops didn’t include possible explosions in the briefing.” He parked himself on the sofa next to her rather than hover. “Hungry?”

  “No,” she said, draining the glass of water and he took it before she had to lean forward to set it on the table. “I should eat, but I am not remotely hungry.”

  “MRE? Ramen? Peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Those were the first three things that came to mind and they were all in his pantry.

  “MRE?” Suddenly those dark eyes were focused on him.

  “Don’t judge. I actually like the damn things. So I pick up a few when I get a chance. They also serve in a pinch when I need to eat and don’t feel like fast food or cooking.”

  “Cause fast food and cooking are the only two options.” The humor brought a touch of color back to her cheeks.

  “Possibly.” He studied the scars he could see. “Are you judging me?”

  “Yes,” she said with a nod. “I absolutely am. MREs. Blegh.”

  “Well, I’ll have to live with the insult…except I did offer to fix something for you personally.” Teasing her was fun, and Oddjob liked the way life seemed to return to her expression. Maybe he should insist on the doctor anyway. Playing it her way was respectful, but the force of the detonation had hit them and he had taken her down in an effort to absorb most of it himself.

  Had he hurt her more than if he hadn’t?

  “True—and I’m sure it would be a gourmet PB&J.”

  The bark of laughter escaped him and he grinned. “Damn straight, Marine.”

  Her smile vanished, and she relaxed back against the sofa—or at least she mimicked relaxing. The way she held her right hand suggested it was still hurting, but she’d already begun to massage the palm with her left hand, using her good hand to loosen the fingers on the bad. What the fuck had happened to her?

  He had pieces, but not the whole story.

  “Can you just call me, Shayna?” The question surprised him

  “Sure—don’t like being called a Devil Dog? Leatherneck? Marine?”

  She grimaced as she straightened her thumb. “It’s not a matter of like or dislike. Once a Marine, always one—but…it’s like a reminder of another life. One I won’t ever get back. I need to learn how to just be Shayna now and to be okay with it.”

  Humbled, he nodded. “I get that.” Well, he did and he didn’t. “Sorta. But I don’t have to understand it to respect the request. So—you’re Shayna.”

  “And you’re Oddjob.” She chuckled, it was a low, husky sound that echoed with pain. Fuck, he hated that she was hurting like this. “I hate to say it, but the name does suit you.”

  “Aye, better than Fergus.” He butchered a Scottish accent just for her. “But me mum ken the folk and wanted to name me after me grandpappy who came over to this beautiful country after the war.”

  “Good God never do that in public. You might alienate a whole culture.”

  More warmth filled those cheeks, and a hint of the spark returned to the dullness of her eyes. Satisfied, he plowed forward.

  “Ah, lassie, I ken what you mean, but I’m Fergus and I’ll always be Fergus…”

  “And Fergus is an oddball.”

  “Oddjob,” he corrected, then claimed her glass as he stood. “Oddball was the dog.”

  More laughter wheezed out of her, and she pressed her good hand to her mouth as she said, “Ow,” between the chuckles. He was in the kitchen refilling her glass when she said, “Did you really have a dog named Oddball?”

  “Actually?” He twisted and met her gaze.

  “Yeah?”

  He shrugged, then grinned. “Nope.”

  More laughter and some of the tension fisting in his chest eased.

  “Can I ask how you got the nickname?” The wheeze in her voice tapered off and she sat a little straighter and even the hunch in her shoulders vanished. Whatever the hell she’d taken had worked. Now he itched to take a look at the pill bottles, get an idea for what she was treating.

  “I could…but then I might have to kill you.”

  The absolute derision in her snort only increased his smile.

  “It could be classified.”

  “Right, and you could have a dog named Oddball.” No rancor, only more amusement. Good. “I’m starting to recognize where the Odd in your name came from.”

  He retrieved the peanut butter from the cabinet, and the jelly from the fridge. He put together a couple of sandwiches while he spoke. “You’d be surprised how odd most of us are.”

  “No,” she declared. “No I wouldn’t. You’re Navy—most of you sailor boys are pretty odd.”

  “Boy?” He gave her a long hard stare, and she returned his gaze with an unrepentant grin.

  “Men go into the Marines.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Yeah, my ass rides in Navy equipment.”

  They were both laughing by the time he carried the sandwiches over. She took hers with a small smile, and a thank you. He saved eating his until he saw how fast she devoured hers. Call him a chauvinist but in his world, the lady got first dibs—Marine or not.

  “Anyway,” she said after washing down a bite with a drink of water. “You were telling me about your name.”

  “I was, wasn’t I?” The banter helped improve her mood and her focus. He could do it all day if she needed it. “Sadly, it’s not some exciting story. I was in the Air Force—right out of high school. Even got my wings, but it wasn’t enough. So requested and got a lateral transfer to the Navy.”

  She was eating slowly, taking her time in chewing each bite. Her eyes were half-open as she studied him. The last of the tension in her expression eased. Stealing a glance at the bottles he could read, he committed the names of her medications to memory.

  “I didn’t think it would be a big deal, basic is basic—but I landed in a SERE class, and I excelled. Then I started pushing it and one of my instructors said I should consider SEAL training. So I applied…washed out the first time.”

&nbs
p; She winced. “Ouch.”

  “Definitely an ouch, I got injured. Failure teaches. I learned. Review board rolled me back, then let me repeat when the injury healed. Second time was the charm.”

  “Did you get the name because you had to go twice?” Good, she might be a little foggy from the meds, but she still managed to follow his tale.

  “Nah, I got it because I was a bird who could swim.” The fact they stuck him with a lot of oddjobs in the beginning didn’t hurt. “Once I had the name…it fit.”

  “So you were an Airman, then a sailor, then a SEAL and now you’re a bodyguard. I guess you do get the oddjobs.” The fact she vocalized his internal thought pleased him. The woman understood him. A part of him worried he’d manufactured a connection to her and yet, sitting here, even after the destruction at the cabin and her obvious pain, it seemed even clearer.

  “I like the oddjobs. This job fits me, too. Kind of like you helping other veterans. It suits you.”

  “I hope so.” She’d eaten most of her sandwich. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “I’ll take it to my grave.” When he promised something, he never took it back.

  “I don’t think it’s national security secret.” The chastisement just made him grin, and he motioned for her to continue. Shifting her position on the sofa, she flexed her right hand. It was opening and closing, though two of the fingers still seemed a little stiffer than the others. “I worry that I’m never going to be well enough for any of it. I have good days and I have bad—and sometimes the bad days really suck.”

  “Bad days do suck. But you’re not a quitter.” Nothing about her said give up or run away.

  “Shows what you know.” She finished the last bite of her sandwich, then met his gaze head on. “I quit once.”

  “Yeah? Then what are you doing here?”

  “Because my uncle wouldn’t quit me.” There was something more to that story, but he didn’t have to ask. “He was in DC, went to see the memorials and do a veteran escort thing. He wanted to see me, and found out I was sleeping in my car, and I couldn’t afford my meds, and I couldn’t hold down a job. I think if I’d had a gun, I’d have checked out entirely.”