by Hope Anika
Rafe sighed. “I liked it better when I was just an orphan.”
Will squeezed his shoulder. “Cheyenne will take good care of you.”
“I know.” Rafe smoothed his cheek along the pup’s silky head. “She let me keep Lucky. I didn’t even have to ask. She said Chuck will love her.”
“Chuck?”
“Her dog. She said he’s a ladies man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She has a goat and a cat, too.”
“See, it’s not all bad. You’re getting siblings.”
Which made Rafe smile. “I always wanted a brother.”
“Well, there you go.” Will looked up as a horn sounded. Cheyenne was headed toward them, wrestling with a large, overflowing cart.
“I bet she bought one of everything,” Will said.
Rafe looked at the cart. “She totally did.”
“Our girl likes to be prepared.”
They watched her fight with the wayward wheels on the cart, all of her weight pitched behind the handle. She made two cars wait for her to cross in front of them and then flipped off some guy in a pick-up who honked and roared past her.
“She’s different,” Rafe said, watching her.
“Yes,” Will said, and he was watching her, too. “How do you think a man would go about pursuing a woman like her, Rafe?”
Startled by the question, Rafe glanced at Will. “I don’t know.”
“Me either.”
“I can Google it,” Rafe offered, and Will laughed softly.
“That’s okay,” Will said. “I’ll figure it out.”
Another horn; another single-fingered salute. Will shook his head and headed toward Cheyenne. Rafe put Lucky down and followed.
The pup barked at Cheyenne, her tail wagging furiously. She liked Cheyenne. She liked, Will, too. Rafe had decided to name her Lucky because it fit—she’d survived whatever left that scar, and she’d made it to the rock in the middle of the lake, and she’d found them—besides, he figured they could all use a little more luck. Especially since people were probably after them.
People. Malik. A tall, handsome man with the hazel half of Rafe’s eyes and a familiar smile. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who would kill his own kid, but what did that look like? Rafe didn’t know. And while he was still pissed that both his mom and his pop were assholes—he would give anything to be a damn orphan—he really couldn’t complain, not with what Cheyenne had shared about her own ma. Oh, he wanted to, but she was right: it could be worse. And it might get worse before it was over.
He really hoped Will kept his word. Because they needed Will. Cheyenne was tough; after the Letitia showdown, there could be no doubt she would hold her own. But Rafe still worried. Missing bombs were bad enough, but when you added Malik and whatever craziness his ma had been involved in—spies and codes and killing SEALS—nothing good could come of it. And now he had Lucky to take care of. They were headed out west, a foreign place he knew nothing about, and they were going to camp—something he’d never done—and he felt very unprepared.
At least in the city he knew where to hide. How to get away.
But he wasn’t alone anymore. He couldn’t just run and leave Cheyenne and Will and Lucky behind. They were…a unit. They had to stick together.
Rafe wasn’t used to being part of a unit. He was apart. But he knew they had to work together. He knew they had to talk to each other and listen to each other and help each other.
He could do that. But would it be enough to keep them safe?
Enough to beat his ma. Because that’s what this was: a game. Them against her. Rafe knew that much was true. And she’d been smart. Really, really smart.
Which scared him. It meant no one was safe.
Him least of all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Building a fire is like wooing a woman. You start small and go slow, building layer by layer by layer until it’s strong enough to take anything you throw at it. But you gotta make sure that flame can breathe. That’s critical. Otherwise it will just turn to ash and die.”
Cheyenne wanted to snort in derision, but when Will glanced up and winked at her a blush turned her cheeks into burning coals.
“You start with a ball of tinder—dried grass or moss or crushed leaves—and small, dry twigs.” Will arranged a pile of moss in the middle of the steel campfire ring that was the centerpiece of their campsite. Rafe and Lucky sat next to him, watching curiously. “Then you build. Most folks use a teepee. Simple but strong and it allows the fire to breathe, which makes it stronger. Here’s your tinder, then you add your twigs like this, one by one, feeding it thicker and thicker kindling until you have a nice little bed of coals that can handle bigger wood.”
“You used a lighter,” Cheyenne pointed out. “That’s cheating.”
Will arched a brow at her. “I should’ve used a bow drill?”
“That’s true survival,” she said. “No lighter fluid necessary.”
She was trying to poke him, but he only smiled at her, dimples and all. “You’re right. We’ll try a bow drill tomorrow. You can demonstrate how it works.”
Backfire! Damn it.
Bow drills were a shitload of work.
Smoke curled into the air and filled Cheyenne’s lungs, and the scent was so sweet she breathed deep. It had been too long since she’d sat around a crackling fire, staring into the flames while the stars glittered overhead.
“Cool,” Rafe said. “Nobody ever taught me that.”
“You can build tomorrow’s fire,” Will told him. “After Cheyenne gets it started with her bow drill.”
Still smiling, his pale eyes glinting.
Gorgeous bastard.
Rafe grinned at her, one hand rubbing Lucky’s head. Then he bent over and began to help Will add kindling.
Cheyenne watched them, Will so big, Rafe so small, heads bent close together as they spoke about the fire and worked to build it, and felt something prickle in the region of her heart.
Indigestion.
“Just need a Tums,” she told herself.
Even though she hadn’t eaten since Madison, and they were now stopped and set up at Blue Mound State Park in southern Minnesota, seven hours later. In point of fact, she was starving. Rafe had begged for hotdogs on the fire, and since the kid had never had the pleasure of cooking a hotdog over a campfire, she’d been unable to refuse. But now she had to wait for them to get done before she could lodge a dog on one of the narrow metal skewers she’d bought at Gander Mountain and fry it to a crisp.
“Fire isn’t something you should ever take for granted,” Will said. “It can get away from you in a heartbeat, spread in the blink of an eye, and it will destroy absolutely everything. Fire can keep you alive or it can kill you. It should be respected.” He stood. “We’ll let that burn down, and then we should be ready for some hotdogs.”
“Sweet.” Rafe picked up the pup and pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna throw the ball for Lucky until it’s ready. That was a long ride.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Cheyenne told him.
She watched him lead the pup into the field next to them and marveled at how decent and kind a human being he was; nothing at all like his mother. Smart, too, and witty—something Georgia had never mastered. He didn’t act like a ten year old, but Cheyenne hadn’t expected him to. Only when it came to the things he’d never done—and had never expected to do—did she see the little boy who lived within. Camping, cooking hotdogs over a fire, having a dog…how silly she felt, mentally listing all of the things she wanted to introduce him to simply for the pleasure of seeing that boy. But silly was okay. She was still going to do it.
“He’s a good kid,” Will said, as if reading her thoughts. He sank into the camp chair next to her, his long legs stretched out before him. He’d set up the tent, unpacked the sleeping bags and the food, and started the fire; she hadn’t had to do diddly squat. Now he sat beside her, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, whi
ch considering the events of the previous night, perplexed her. Because she was hyperaware of both what she’d shared and what had passed between them afterward—neither of which she was particularly happy about.
Stupid soft heart. Always leading her astray. And that kiss….
She’d spent the morning kicking her own ass—mostly because she didn’t regret it. But it couldn’t happen again. Emotions were stirring—rusty and unused—and allowing herself to feel anything for Will was profoundly stupid. That she already did—at least a little—was shocking and horrifying and utterly unacceptable. Which was why she’d tried her best to push him out the door this morning.
Only to have him dig in his heels.
He had to know she and Rafe were only a decoy. Neither one of them had any knowledge of the cache or the people who’d stolen it or its current location. They had nothing—other than her translation of the ledger—to give him. And while she appreciated his concern for their safety, she didn’t understand it.
Why put himself in front?
The question had gnawed at her since he’d declared his refusal to leave them. It made no sense to her, especially when he had such grand plans. And while the idea of his protecting them from the (possible) criminal collective looking for the cache—and Rafe’s (possibly) murderous father—was incredibly noble, it was also…curious.
What were his motives, really?
A cynical question, but what could she say? She was a cynical gal.
Maybe he thought the location of the cache would appear to Rafe through osmosis. Or maybe he just didn’t want his only lead to get dead.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner!
The true test would be his response to the book that sat in her lap. The ledger was filled with names, people she didn’t recognize but who Will might—people who could very well be the ones he sought. Seventeen brand new leads…
“What are you thinking about?” Will asked quietly, pinning her with his pale gaze.
Cheyenne looked down at the book. She’d finished it halfway through Minnesota and had spent the other half wondering what he would do. Stay or go. If he found a smoking gun among the list of names—regardless of what he’d said—she expected him to go.
“Here.” She handed it to him. “Merry Christmas.”
He took the book, opened it and scanned the first page. She’d written the translation above the code, the name, date and numbered value. “You’re done?”
“Malik is in there,” she told him. “Number three.”
Will nodded. Then he closed the book and tossed it on top of the picnic table next to him.
“You aren’t going to read it?” Cheyenne demanded, frowning.
“Later,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She only stared at him. “You’re not going to see if someone you know is in there?”
“Later,” he repeated and reached out to capture a lock of her hair where it trailed over the slope of her breast. He wound it around his index finger, stroking the texture with his thumb, and as she watched the unhidden pleasure he took in the act, everything within her went tight. “So spill it.”
She ignored him. That was all that was left to her: pretending he didn’t exist. Because he clearly wasn’t going to stop looking at her like that, he wasn’t going to stop touching her as though it was his right, he wasn’t going to stop calling her “baby” in that rough, possessive tone which should have infuriated her but just made her wet. All the damn man had to do was look at her, and she was ready.
It was lunacy. And it had gone beyond sexual awakening. Beyond harmless.
Anything that happened from here on out was going to leave a mark. And Cheyenne—for all her fearlessness—had no desire to bear any more scars.
He tugged at the strand of hair he held. “Talk to me.”
“We made good time,” she said. “Traffic was light.”
“Don’t bullshit me, baby.”
Cheyenne said nothing. Then, because honesty was her way, she said, “What happened last night…it can’t happen again.”
Next to her, Will went still. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Not that.” She shook her head. “I meant…us.” Her cheeks burned, but she met his gaze and held it. “It was…nice, but—”
“Nice?” He laughed and shook his head, and she scowled at how beautiful he was. “That wasn’t nice, baby. Nice is…ordinary.” His smile faded. “Average. That was fucking incredible.”
His seriousness made her heart beat hard in her chest. Cheyenne cleared her throat. “If you say so, but—”
“You wouldn’t say so?”
Cheyenne blinked at him. He was frowning at her, but there was a glint in his pale eyes she didn’t recognize, almost as if he were teasing her. He leaned close and cast her in shadow; the scent of pine invaded her nostrils, and his heat pressed against the bare skin of her arm, making awareness hum within her.
“You don’t want to do it again?” he murmured, his gaze falling to her mouth, tracing its shape, and she could feel his lips against hers, the rough stroke of his tongue claiming her. Her breath grew short, and her lips tingled, and she remembered how it felt to have his hands on her, that biting pleasure-pain when he’d—
“Rafe is my priority,” she said, struggling to focus, her hands fisted in her lap to keep from reaching for him. “Not sex.”
Will snarled softly. “It’s not just sex.”
Cheyenne’s heart jerked in her chest. “Then what is it?”
“More.”
The definition of which baffled her. And scared her. Contemplating sex was bad enough; what the hell did he mean by more?
She could only shake her head. “I’m not that girl.”
“For me, you are.”
Cheyenne wanted to look away, but couldn’t. His certainty shook her. There was no question in him. No doubt. No fear. And he was right.
For him she was someone she’d never been. Someone she hadn’t imagined existed. Still…she was not that girl. She never had been, never would be.
Alone is what I know.
Sex was one thing: physical, unadorned by morality or emotion. Simply a response to stimuli. But more was…
Dangerous. And something she’d not—in a million years—envisioned.
“A lot is happening,” Will continued. “I know. And Rafe…he’s important. But so is this.”
Panic was a mad flutter in her chest, as though a bird had gotten trapped in the fragile framework of her ribcage. “There is no ‘this.’ No us. No we. Just because we strike sparks—”
“Don’t,” he said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t denigrate it.”
Cheyenne blinked at him.
“At the fucking least, we’re friends. Don’t make it less because it scares you.”
She inhaled sharply. But she couldn’t argue. Because it did scare her. This was an area of life she knew absolutely zero about—and hadn’t planned on learning. And damn him for making her think about it. With Rafe, she’d jumped. But with Will….
“You know I’m right,” he said.
He didn’t budge, watching her with a perception and understanding that sent her mentally fleeing for cover. When had this morphed into…more? Jesus. She wasn’t ‘significant other’ material; she was barely friend material.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she told him.
“I know. That’s okay. There’s no rush, baby. But I want us on the same page.”
Cheyenne looked at him, nonplussed, the rush of her blood a dull roar in her ears. Will only looked back, intense and unwavering, and she didn’t know what to make of him.
“Smile for the camera.” Rafe stood before them suddenly, holding his phone out. “Say hi.”
Cheyenne scowled blackly.
“Smile, Cheyenne.”
“What in Hades are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to make a movie of our trip. Maybe I can send it to Ruby.” He hesita
ted. “Is that okay?”
God help me.
“Of course,” she said and smiled through her teeth. “Cheese.”
Will laughed softly.
“Yuck it up,” she told him. “You Tube likes pretty. You’ll be very popular.”
“This is Cheyenne. She’s my guardian. And this is Will. He’s….” Rafe halted his narration and looked at Will. “What are you?”
“I can answer that,” Cheyenne said.
Will tugged on her hair. “Careful.”
“He’s…our friend,” Rafe said, his gaze meeting Will’s. When Will nodded, Cheyenne wanted to smack him. And scream. And do everything she could to regain control of this out of control situation.
Yeah. Good luck with that.
“Chaos bites,” she muttered.
“We’re at Blue Mound State Park in Minnesota,” Rafe continued as he panned around their campsite and focused on the quartzite cliff that rose from the prairie like a jagged tooth. “Tomorrow we’re going to Pipestone Monument and the Badlands.” He panned back to the fire he and Will had built. “This is our fire. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to make one. And now, we’re going to cook hotdogs and roast marshmallows.”
Cheyenne’s stomach rumbled. “About freaking time.” She yanked at the strand of hair Will held. “Let go. It’s time to eat.”
He only smiled at her. Dared her.
“Getting between a woman and her weenie is dangerous,” she warned. Rafe giggled.
“I would never,” Will said and let her hair slide through his hand. “A hungry woman is a dangerous woman.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alexander Wentworth, FL Congressman, 3.
Ethan Scott, Navy, 3.
Andrew Malik, Ambassador, 3*.
General Robert Forsyth, Army, 3.
Alan Phillips, Special Agent, FBI, 3.
This list went on and on, names Will recognized, powerful men from every facet of the American government.
Including his Senior Chief.
The sight of Ethan’s name was a vicious punch to the gut. Will returned to it again and again, wondering what the hell Ethan had received from Georgia Humboldt that’d earned him the highest debt marker in her ledger.