Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

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Protecting Pilar

Heather Long

Contents

Protecting Pilar

Note from the Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Also by Heather Long

Protecting Pilar

Love doesn’t come with an instruction manual...

Ben “Cannon” Stone had been called many things—pretty boy, rich kid, and heir-apparent. The one title he earned and made him proud was that of Navy SEAL. Although he wore his scars on the inside, it didn’t make him any less screwed up. He just deflected with a grin and a smart-ass comment. At least until a pouty princess collided with his car…

War isn’t always fought abroad…

Born a Napolitano but raised as a Petrucci, Pilar knew all about blood feuds and the family business. Her personal policy of non-involvement falters the day she overhears her grandfather order an assassination. Worse, the killing promises to launch of a war of retribution with Pilar in the crosshairs of a killer. The last thing she needs is a car accident and some pretty boy offering to help her…

Hell is a road we make…

Cannon doesn’t know where she came from or who is after her, but he isn’t letting anyone hurt her. Isolated. On the run. And unfamiliar with the enemy, this SEAL will use every skill he has to protect the woman who just might be his Mrs. Right.

Note from the Author

First off, let me say thank you to the amazing Susan Stoker for letting me play in her world. I fell in love with Mickey in Securing Arizona and his buddies Flint and Cannon. After a brief appearance in Chasing Katie, Flint came to life in Guarding Gertrude and Cannon crashed into my heart during his book, which brings us to Protecting Pilar. Get ready for some crazy action, because Cannon has a way of making things go boom!

xoxo

Heather

Chapter 1

The squeal of tires preceded the sickening thud and crunch of metal on metal. The force exploded the airbag like a fist to his face. The tinkling of broken glass breaking against the pavement and the overpowering smell of gasoline roused him.

“Son. Of. A. Bitch.” The words came out muffled Dust gritted against his teeth and tongue, as did the taste of copper. Shaking his head, Ben “Cannon” Stone released the seatbelt before he forced the driver’s side door open.

On his feet, he blinked dazedly through his broken sunglasses. Pain radiated from his chest, but he’d had worse in drills. Blood trickled from his nostrils and he had to lean to the side to spit the taste of it from his mouth. Stripping away the sunglasses, he stared at the remains of a sexy little red Jag, which had definitely taken the worst of the impact with his 450.

Tossing the broken glasses into the back of the truck, he grabbed a fire extinguisher from behind the driver’s seat before he strode toward the other vehicle. It had tried to T-bone him. The front bumper was scuffed and side panel was a mess, and he’d have to get the alignment checked, but otherwise the vehicle was in good shape.

The gas smell grew stronger as he approached the other car. Not seeing flames didn’t mean they wouldn’t be there. All he could see of the driver was a cloud of black hair pinned by an airbag. Must be an older model. Deflating the bag with a stab of his knife, he touched two fingers to her throat to check for a pulse and came face to face with a Glock 26.

“Don’t touch me,” the woman ordered, her sweet contralto husky with pain.

“No problem, ma’am.” He kept his tone strictly polite. Baby Glock or not, if she squeezed the trigger then it was bye-bye Cannon with a bang. He still had a few items left on his bucket list to court the option. “I was driving the truck you hit, so I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

A hint of acrid filtered through the overwhelming smell of gas. Cutting his gaze to the right, he checked the tail of his truck. No fluids flowed. A faint groan tugged his attention to the woman leaning her head back against the seat. The cascade of black hair parted like a curtain, revealing a pair of stunningly dark eyes, a cute—if abraded—nose and some luscious lips. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of that beautiful mouth.

“You’re hurt.” Probably an unnecessary observation, but the gun hadn’t wavered, and she seemed to have trouble focusing her eyes. “Anything broken? Hurt?” Jags were tougher than they looked, but whether she’d cracked the engine block or not, she wasn’t driving away without significant repairs.

“I’ll live,” she managed to grind out. “Back off…I told them I wasn’t going back and sending a pretty boy isn’t likely to change my mind.”

He’d taken a hit, but not enough for a concussion. “Sweetheart, I think you’ve got me confused with…”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

Hostile.

Okay, he could work with that. “I hear you, lovely lady. You’re hurt. Let’s get you out of the car then check your injuries.”

She grimaced then glared at him. The blood from her lip slowed, so maybe she just split the inside of her cheek. Minor injury. The force had to be tremendous, as it shook him and she’d appeared unconscious when he got to her.

The sound of an engine approaching reached him. His cell was in the truck, but backup might not be a bad thing if he couldn’t calm her down.

“Back. Off.” She pushed the two words out with effort. His gaze dipped to her chest. Short, shallow breaths.

“I have a knife, and you’re having trouble taking a deep breath. Can you free your seatbelt?” He set the extinguisher down.

Her focus sharpened on him as disbelief rippled across her face. “Are you stupid or something? I’m pointing a gun at you.”

“Is that a problem?” Covering the gun with his free hand, he removed it from hers, leaving her blinking rapidly. “There, all taken care of. Need help getting the seatbelt off?”

The engine continued to draw closer, but the winding roads of West Virginia weren’t crowded. He’d been taking the back way on purpose to delay returning home to visit his parents after helping Flint clean up a mess in Virginia. Where the hell had she been going so fast? He hadn’t even seen the Jag before it plowed into him.

“How did you…?” She couldn’t finish the statement as her breath wheezed. Enough of an answer for him—he sliced through the seatbelt holding her rigid and she sagged with a whoosh. Folding the knife closed, he tucked it back into his pocket then set the gun next to the fire extinguisher.

Only idiots tucked a weapon into their pants. He liked his junk right where it was.

The doorframe was pretty shot, but he let her get some needed oxygen while he worked on wrenching it open.

The acrid smell increased, and a faint trail of smoke rose from beneath the crunched hood. Time to go. Putting his back into it, he managed to get the door open then wedged wider. More glass fell, but he ignored the shards. They were falling outside, not into the car on her.

“All right, pretty lady, my name’s Ben—friends call me Cannon. I’m going to pull you out of there. Try not to bite me.” He waited until her shock-eyed gaze collided with his to wink. “I might like it.”

“Who are you?” She found her voice and speaking revealed her white teeth. Only one showed stains from the blood, which was a good sign. After sliding an arm beneath her legs, he eased one behind her back. He was used to dealing with pain—it was just weakness leaving the body. Didn’t mean he wanted to hurt her more than she already was.

Her hiss told him he’d definitely ticked something aching on her. Lifting her out, he balanced her easily. Until he had a better grasp on her injuries, he wanted to avoid the bump and jerk. Once clear of her car, he circled the truck to the driver’s side. He got the back door open and lifted her up into the rear passenger seat.

“My bag…” She groaned. “I need it.”

“Stay,” he told her before jogging back to the damaged vehicle. The smoke intensified, so he grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed it over the cracked engine. The smoke vanished, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Collecting her gun, he reached across the seat and lifted her purse by the straps. It was one of those huge duffle-bag-wannabe looking jobs and weighed as much as a training ruck. What the hell was she carrying?

Though he could still hear an engine, no vehicles put on an appearance. Clocking the noise, he returned to the injured woman and handed her the purse sans the gun. Her fingers closed over it, giving him a good look at the bruises on her fingers, and the barely scabbed over knuckles which were cracked and raw.

“I need to move the truck back. You good?”

Not waiting for an answer, he closed the door and climbed back into the driver’s seat. The engine running was his, but it wasn’t the sound he’d heard. Instinct told him to move, so he moved. In the field, he trusted his gut and that hadn’t changed since he’d gotten home. The damage to his truck might be negligible, but it was annoying.

He’d just picked this bad boy up after totaling the last one in a barn.

Story for another day. He put the truck into reverse. Somewhere after the crash, he’d managed to put the gear into park. Whatever, auto-pilot worked, and he didn’t want waste another second. Metal dragged with him as he retreated from the smashed Jag. At three hundred feet back, he slowed and pulled over onto the shoulder. Well, what there was of it.

The stop she’d blown past was visible just beyond her car, and there were trees all around the road he’d been following. Touching a finger to his nose, he checked to make sure it wasn’t broken. Adrenaline waning, the feeling of his pulse thudding in what was sure to be a bruise ached. Nothing he couldn’t live with though.

Putting the truck in park, he twisted to look at his passenger. She stared back at him, blinking slowly. Ignoring the throb on his cheek, he grinned. “Okay, that went well, all things considered.”

The truck’s engine rumbled, but there was another engine noise—and it increased as it drew closer. His passenger’s eyes widened, and Cannon whipped around in time to see another car bearing down on them. This one had a man hanging out of the side, and he opened fire.

“Put the seatbelt on and get down,” Cannon ordered. The Glock 26 was a nice gun, but he preferred his own. Freeing it from the lockbox between the seats, he put the truck in drive and floored it. It was like playing chicken with a semi-automatic. Fortunately, their bullets sprayed wide. The peppering of pops mostly hit the blacktop, but one found its mark on his truck.

“Dammit,” he muttered. Brand new truck. Another pop and he was pretty sure it caught a tire. Fortunately, he was rolling on eight, not just four. He didn’t bother to shoot at the oncoming car. He could shoot with his left hand, but he was a hell of a lot better with his right.

Whipping around her damaged car, he hit the control to lower the window on the right, then fired at the car as he accelerated.

“Sorry,” he called back to his passenger.

“For what?” came her muffled reply. More words. Great. More words was always good.

The second bullet he fired hit the leaking gas on the ground. The spark jumped, then there was a whoosh and he lowered the gun and dropped the accelerator all the way to the floor. In his rearview, the car racing toward them disappeared as the fire roared over the Jag and then there was a very loud boom as metal sheared off metal.

Cannon grinned. “For that.” It wasn’t funny, not really. Her car just went up in flames and someone was shooting at them.

A tire bounced off the hood of his truck leaving an unholy dent.

Damn.

His grin faltered but returned.

“Why are you smiling?” Disbelief and horror twined in his passenger’s voice, and it still sounded like she was lying down on the seat. Their would-be pursuers hadn’t gotten around the burning Jag.

“Because it went boom. Boom’s pretty funny when you’re not the one going boom and no one you know or like is going boom.” Then it occurred to him. “They weren’t friends of yours, were they?”

Crap. What if he’d blown her people up? That would not be funny.

“No,” she exhaled. “Definitely not…”

“Good.” Free to enjoy it, he checked his rearview then ahead. He had no idea what road he was on, or who the hell she was, or what had just happened.

The only thing he knew was he didn’t have to go back home and that was all right. “So,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s try this again. I’m Ben Stone, friends call me Cannon. And you are?”

Bruised and battered, Pilar Petrucci clung to the back of the seat. The man in the driver’s seat flashed another of those heart-stopping grins in her direction. Everything about him screamed clean-cut, American pie, boy next door with his reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles. Then he did things like take away her gun, rescue her, get shot out, and blow up her car without seeming to break a sweat.

“My car?” The thoughts swirled through her as though poured from a container of maple syrup—slow, gooey, and sweet enough to make her teeth ache. Except the last one, as the last one soured. “You blew up my car.”

“To be fair, your insurance company would have totaled it anyway, but chances are they’d have blamed it on you. Your rates would’ve skyrocketed.” He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on a gun he’d pulled from…somewhere. The barrel angled toward the door and away from both of them, but he didn’t release it. “Trust me, you’re better off with the fire. Just hope it doesn’t get these woods.”

Who the hell was this guy? He didn’t sound like one of the locals, not that she’d spent a lot of time in West Virginia—if that was where she still was. She’d been passing through as she fled southward.

Blinking, she touched a finger to her forehead. The headache beat in time to her pulse, which happened to be racing along like she’d fled a mugger in Central Park. Probably an apt comparison, because her grandfather’s soldiers weren’t going to stop. Old Man Petrucci didn’t have a forgiving bone in his body. Now, she’d crashed this…good samaritan’s life.

Pushing her hair away from her face, she slid over on the seat to get a better angle on his face. His jawline was firm, strong—a man’s jaw. Never fall for a man with a weak chin, her nonna advised. They always had something to prove.

“And you are?” he said, cutting a look back at her again before his gaze went to the rearview mirror.

Twisting, she glanced behind. The act looped pain around her neck, and a lance of it drove right into her brain. Gripping her neck, she grimaced, then turned her whole body to look. Her head had snapped forward at the impact—she remembered that much before the airbag shoved her back.

No sign of a car behind them.

“They’re not following,” her erstwhile rescuer announced. Wait, hadn’t he told her his name?

“I think I missed your name,” she managed, straightening in the seat and then leaning back to let it support her head. Everything hurt. The taste of blood in her mouth left her a bit queasy on top of her other complaints.

“Ben,” he said, not seeming to mind repeating himself.

“You called yourself something else.”

“Cannon.” He leaned his head to the left a little, and the muscles along his neck flexed and his shirt tightened over the shoulder. The man was solid. A fleeting memory of the way he’d lifted her out of the car and carried her darted across her mind. She’d been pressed up against him. Pity she hadn’t been in better condition to enjoy it. Closing her eyes, she shook her head internally. Externally would have hurt, and frankly keeping her sluggish brain on target was a chore.

“Weird name,” she finally said.

“You okay back there?”

When she opened her eyes, it was to meet his worried green-eyed gaze in the rearview mirror. “Not really, but I’m alive, so that’s something.”

“Damn straight. You’re not running alone anymore. Where are we headed?” How did he manage to sound so damn cheerful? Maybe it’s because his truck wasn’t the one totaled and on fire. She would miss the Jag. Her family’s dubious connections and life choices aside, she had just made the final payment on that car, thanks to the job those connections got for her. Not that she held any illusions anymore about whether she still had a job, a place to live, or a vehicle.

She had cut all ties by turning on them. Hard to swallow that she was dead to them, even if they hadn’t whacked her yet.

“Hey,” the sharp cut of his voice echoed in the cab of the truck. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Are you hurt?”

“I told you, I’m not your sweetheart.” He’d called her that earlier. Terms of endearment didn’t flow in normal conversation, especially not between strangers. “Of course I’m hurt.” It came out a little harsher than she’d intended. “I was just in a car accident.”

“Got it.” Though to which part he didn’t clarify. “Any serious injuries?”

“Like what?” All she really wanted to do was go to sleep. In school, they’d done a whole segment on fight or flight. Some animals, when cornered, turned into hellions. It was how a smaller animal might even survive attack by a larger predator. Flight was also an option, one she’d embraced. They fled, relying on speed to get away. In both types, however, there was a point where they gave up. Exhaustion could have a lot to do with it, or a depletion of resources brought on by too much adrenaline.

Those animals laid down and just died where they were or waited for the inevitable to come.

The last thought pushed her chin up, and she sucked in a deep breath. Her lungs expanded, and though it ached, it was nowhere near as punishing as it had been earlier. That was something.

“Bruises. Cuts. Bullet wounds.” Cannon was still talking to her. The man was relentless. Bullet wounds? Wait, they had been shooting at the truck. Jolted, she ran her hands over herself. There was blood on her shirt, but there was also blood on her cheek.

“I’ve never been shot. How does that feel?” Even her toes hurt, so Pilar wasn’t sure if she could identify it without a mirror and stripping.

“Burns like a mother fucker when it goes through bone…”

Nothing felt that bad.

“…hot when it just goes through skin and tendon…”

Heat crept through her, but she wasn’t sure if that a sympathetic reaction to the description or not.

“…razor sting and heat when it hits muscle…”

No stings. Except for her face. Surely he’d notice if she’d been shot in the face. Right? Still, she touched two fingers to her face.

“…sometimes the shock hides the pain.”

“God, that’s not helpful.” Dropping her hands to the seat, she glared at him. “I don’t think they shot me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart. Real good. Let me know if you get lightheaded or feel faint. Or if it feels like you got hit with a bat somewhere.”

The fledgling sense of hope collapsed. “I feel like I got hit by a bat everywhere. How do you know so much about how it feels to be shot?”

“Experience,” was his only reply.

Blowing out a breath, she ran a hand over her chest and then her abdomen. Her chest hurt, but only where the seatbelt had been. It started at her left shoulder and traveled diagonally across. Her neck twinged with every movement, but she found no blood. Her thighs, like everywhere else, trembled.

“Verdict?” Cannon asked after she stilled.

“I think I’m not shot. I think.” She preferred definitives, but all she had to go on was the lack of blood or burning pain.

“Good.” He checked the rearview again. “So, let’s get back to the earlier questions.”

Earlier…?

“Do you have a name, sweetheart? And where are we going?”

Oh…

“My name is Pilar…Napolitano.” She almost said Petrucci, but it wasn’t her name. Legally, sure, but she’d been born a Napolitano. Time to reclaim it, especially if she had Petruccis gunning for her.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Sure was,” she countered, meeting his gaze in the rearview. “Sweetheart.”

Cannon threw his head back and laughed, utterly baffling her. It wasn’t meant to be funny but chiding. After his amusement subsided, he moved the gun from the passenger seat to a holster tucked between the seats—or was it a lockbox? She couldn’t quite make it out. Then he pulled open a water bottle and took a long drink. When he leaned toward the open window and spit out a stream of water, he killed her thirst.

“Sorry,” he grunted, then took another drink. “Bloody water isn’t my favorite.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as if he smiled.

“It’s fine.” She could hardly criticize. Though her mouth was dry, and all she could taste was blood. The power of suggestion was not that strong. Closing her eyes, she stretched her legs and flexed her toes. Still aching, but no burning pains. Accepting it as a good sign, she exhaled.

“Drink,” he ordered, and when she opened her eyes this time it was to see a fresh bottle of water in front of her.

“You’re really annoying.” The words slipped out even as she accepted the bottle, and fresh heat suffused her face. Pressing the bottle to her hot cheek, she groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this much of a bitch.”

“Heh, no worries, sweetheart. I can handle it. Now drink and tell me where we’re going. Not sure how much farther this road goes, and I haven’t seen any turn offs, which means we’re still on a direct route for those guys, if they get around your car.” Despite his conversational tone, fear prickled along her spine.

“I don’t know you.” And she wasn’t sure where to go. Her only desire had been to get away.

“Sure you do. I’m Cannon and you’re Pilar.”

Gut clenching, she opened the bottle of water and bought herself a few seconds to think about her response. Unfortunately, as good as the water tasted and as welcome as the moisture was on her throat, no answer presented itself. Tell the truth? A lie? No.

Maybe he would turn out to be one of the bad guys later, but he still had her gun. If she played along, it would lull him into a false sense of security and give her a chance to get it back.

If he wanted to kill me, he could have left me in the car. Though the memory of their collision remained a bit fractured, she had been fleeing her grandfather’s soldiers. She’d been trying to look over her shoulder and drive.

I hit him.

“Look, you’re going to be safe. Don’t know who those guys were and don’t care. I’ll get you to where you need to be. Trust me long enough to do that, okay?” Damn hard request to deny.

“I don’t know where to go,” she admitted. “I don’t think I have anywhere.” Her plan had been get away. She hadn’t done so well on that part.

“Are you in trouble?” The warmth in his voice steadied her. Too weird a response even for her, especially when she had too many other worries on her plate.

“Yes, and as much as I hate to ask after everything you’ve already done, could you wait to get rid of me until after we reach civilization?” Everything she had was in her purse. Her gaze dipped to it. He’d gone back for it, and he hadn’t had to do that either.

Cannon didn’t miss a beat before asking, “Trouble with a capital t or a lower case one?”

“Is there a difference?” Wasn’t trouble, trouble?

“Sure, capital T means the guys with the guns keep coming. Lower case means it’s over cause the car is gone.”

“Upper case T.” They weren’t going to stop. Grimacing, she grit her teeth against the fresh wave of head pounding. “I think I’m going to puke.”

“Hang on,” he swerved the truck a little, then thrust a plastic bag toward her. “Use this.”

Taking it, she stared at the bag, then at him.

“What?” Cannon said. “It’s a new truck. Kind of want to keep it as newish as possible.” There was a plaintive note on the end, and she started laughing. It was a new truck, and she’d already hit it, and her grandfather’s soldiers shot at it—so she couldn’t blame him for not wanting her to puke on the upholstery.

Never had laughter hurt so much or felt so good at the same time. She almost forgot she needed to puke.

Almost.

Chapter 2

The weird twisting route of a road went up then down and finally curved until he found a different farm route. They passed a sign for Kentucky before he found what passed for a rest stop. Needing gas soon, he decided to pull off. Pilar kept trying to fade out on him, and he needed three things.

The first was to make sure she wasn’t more injured than she’d been acting. He had enough medical training that he could pinch hit, but if she needed more care, then they were going to need a hospital.

The second was something to eat. Vending machine food was probably the best they could hope for at the remote spot. Still, chemical cream filled cakes which could likely survive an apocalypse were better than nothing. The sugar kick would carry him until he found real food.

The third, but no less important—he needed to take a leak. Three bottles of water and coffee earlier, and his bladder was hating on him.

Checking their six, he found it wide open with no sign of their pursuers. Though she’d been quiet for a while, his sexy passenger with her cascades of dark hair and midnight eyes roused as he slowed the truck and turned in.

“What are you doing?” The husky tenor of her voice dipped as she pushed forward. With a wince and a groan, she let the seatbelt stop her and then her polished nails with their fancy designs appeared in his periphery as she gripped the seat.

“Bladder break. We need to stretch or we won’t be able to move.” All true. He needed to check his cell for signal, too. See if he could get ahold of a map, plot a course out of the mess. Keeping his attention split between the road and his driving meant he’d been driving blind, relying purely on instinct.

“Is that safe?” Genuine fear coiled between the syllables, then she sucked her upper lip between her teeth.

“You’re going to be just fine, sweetheart.” It was a promise. He needed a few more details to get the lay of the land and the enemy pursuing them, but they’d get there.

Keeping her concern in mind, he followed the lot of the rest area around until he could park behind the buildings. They weren’t much in the way of camouflage, but some cover was better than none. Putting the truck into park, he waited a beat. At the accident site, he’d heard another engine. Her pursuers had been close, but not in line of sight. They’d waited until after he took her out of the damaged car to make their move. Patience tempered by cunning kept things interesting, but he’d settle for boring being better as long as his charge was with him.

When he shut off the engine, everything went quiet. Even his passenger seemed to stop breathing. “Easy,” he told her. “Just take a deep breath and let it out slowly.” His pulse slowed as he deepened his own respiration. The click of her seatbelt, then the rustle of fabric on fabric as she slid over closer to him followed by the faintest pressure of her nails on his shoulder let him track her motion.

“We’re safe?”

“Position secure, at least for the moment. Let’s move.” He needed to piss like a racehorse. Pulling a holster from under his seat, he slid it on then snagged his jacket from the floor.

Ready, he holstered his weapon where he could pull it fast, then slid out of the truck. The movement pulled his back and suddenly his face throbbed all over again. Yeah, he would have a shiner and his muscles might protest, but they’d been through worse. Once out of the truck, he listened again before opening the back door for Pilar. He hadn’t seen more than farm vehicles in the past two hours. Now was as good a time as any.

Cutting a glance to Pilar, he paused to absorb the woman standing next to him. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her earlier, outside the cascade of night in the dead straight, long black hair and gorgeous eyes. Well to be fair, he’d also noticed the slick beauty of her full lips, and the shadows promising to be bruises around her nose and the abrasions on her cheeks.

The rest of her though—damn. A woman with curves like a country road, all dressed up in black slacks, a white top and covered by a black jacket. Smart. Refined. His gaze dipped to her feet. Three-inch heels. Sexy? Sure. Practical? Hell no.

“Got different shoes?”

The question seemed to startle her. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Can you run in them?” She had said trouble with a capital T. Capital letters often required running at some point.

Eyes narrowed, she tugged her purse out. The careful movements, the controlled breathing and barely suppressed winces all screamed pain. “We have a car.”

“Truck,” he said absently, then circled her to reach the storage box in the bed while keeping his head on a swivel. The dark metal matched the bed of the truck. After rubbing absently at score mark on the black metal, he flipped it open. He had some boots inside. They’d be big on her, but if she double socked, they’d work in a pinch.

Below his boots, however, were another pair that didn’t belong to him. Huh, they must have been Trudi’s. He’d been keeping an eye on her with Flint. His partner’s reporter girlfriend was a handful, but a practical one. Trading his for those, he thrust them toward Pilar.

“Try these.”

Bewilderment marred her expression. “These are Prada.”

“These are practical…or I could just break the heels off your shoes.” They really didn’t have time to argue about it. His suggestion galvanized her. As she stepped out of her shoes, he dropped the boots in front of her. They were work boots, had steel toes from the feel of it.

While she got them on, he kept watch and checked his truck. There was a dent on the hood and some impact damage on the side panels. Nothing he couldn’t hammer out, buff, then repaint. A bullet hole in the door would need repairing, and he found two more along the side.

Flipping out his utility knife, he checked to see if he could remove the bullet easily or not.

“What are you doing?”

“Just seeing if I can get the evidence. Might be useful. Besides,” he said, glancing at her as the smashed bullet popped out. “It’s a new truck.”

The corners of her mouth curved. “You mentioned.” She set her shoes back inside the truck, but her attention was on the front seat.

“Your gun is in the lock safe.” He eased by her and pulled it out. “Want it in your purse?” The baby Glock was pretty light, but it would be effective at close quarters. Not that he had any intention of letting someone get close enough for her to need it.

“Thank you.”

When he placed the weapon in her palm, he gave it a beat. Would she try to take advantage of the situation? Attempt to turn the tables? Not expecting someone stunning to be deadly or dangerous was usually the last mistake soldiers made, but he’d seen it all—women who stabbed in the back, both literally and figuratively—or who traded on whatever skills and talents they possessed. Ambushes using women and children, sometimes as fodder for the weapons or to put them at ease so they could strike while they were sleeping.

Cannon preferred not to get his throat slit or his head blown off.

Pilar closed her fingers around the weapon, careful to check the safety before she tucked it into her oversized bag.

Good, he liked to have his opinions of people proved, even if history said trust no one who wasn’t his brother in arms. “Let’s go.” He locked up the truck and guided her to the brick buildings.

The day had started off sunny enough but darkened gradually as clouds began to thicken. It would be sundown before too long, and a bite of chill in the air had the woman walking next to him shivering. At the door to the women’s bathroom, he opened the door first and checked inside before motioning her in. Lemon cleaner covered the musty scent, but it smelled better than most of the men’s bathrooms he’d ever been in. There were three stalls, so he pointed her to the farthest one from the entrance.

“Go ahead, I’ll use this one, then step out and watch the door.”

She hesitated at the door to the stall. “What?”

“Rule number one of any protection detail, you don’t get separated from the protectee, no matter what their sensibilities are. It’s a bathroom, the stalls give you privacy, but the men’s is on the other side of the building.” He made another shooing motion and her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. When no sound came out, he used both hands to wave her in. “Or you can keep standing there, and I’ll leave my door open while I take aim at the toilet from here.”

It wasn’t far. He’d make it.

The suggestion worked. The door slammed behind her and the rickety lock went into place. Satisfied, Cannon took care of business but didn’t close his stall. He needed to be able to keep an eye on the door. Once finished, he washed his hands and checked his face in the mirror.

Yeah, good thing Flint couldn’t see him. He’d give him no end of shit about the black eyes. Even plowing through the barn and destroying his last vehicle hadn’t left this many bruises.

Splashing some water on his face, he winced at the cold on the nose. Nothing to be done for it. Nothing was broken, and bruises healed. “I’ll be right outside,” he called.

“Fine,” came the strangled response, and Cannon couldn’t help but chuckle as he stepped out. She hadn’t made a single noise since slamming the door. Hopefully, with him outside, she could pee.

He did a visual scan of the area. His truck sat as a little battle weary, but still the only vehicle in the lot. No movement came from the woods around the place, and the road they’d been traveling on was quiet. Listening, he didn’t catch the sound of another car.

Good. The longer it took the pursuit to catch up, the more time he would have to prep for any possible assaults. Tugging his phone out of his back pocket, he checked the signal. No bars.

Damn. If he had a satellite phone, it wouldn’t matter. He’d left his with Flint and Trudi. Flint didn’t plan on leaving her for the foreseeable future, not until they were certain everyone involved in taking a hit out on her was out of the picture. Their business was on hold—or at least on hiatus—which was fine. Country and family first.

He checked the bars again. No bars, no way to call his mom and duck out of the obligatory visit. Since he was supposed to get there in roughly three hours, she’d assume he’d blown her off again.

Yeah, he could live with that. He’d just slid the phone in his pocket when the sound of an engine echoed toward him from the tree-lined corridor. The trees muffled sounds for people on the other side, but not for those within the area. The lack of other traffic made the sound stand out. Putting a hand on his gun, he kept one on the door handle and tracked for the direction traveled.

The white vehicle coming around the bend looked very familiar. Opening the door, he didn’t glance inside. “Get the gun out Pilar and stay in there until I get you.”

Her murmured affirmative was all he needed before he slipped away from the door and blended better against the other building. It gave him a shield as he tracked the car entering the lot. They made a beeline right for his truck.

After considering and discarding several scenarios, he strode up the path toward his truck. The white SUV pulled up right behind his truck as though planning to box him in. Sure, whatever worked for them.

A tall man with swarthy skin exited and circled the vehicle to meet him. Wearing a very unfriendly expression, he didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He already had a gun out. “Where is she?”

“Sorry?” Cannon canted his head to the side. The man moved with a limp, and there was scarring on the right side of his face, which also left his ear somewhat deformed looking. Maybe a bad burn? “I don’t speak asshole.”

Right on cue, pissed face lifted the gun to point at him with emphasis for each syllable. “No more games. Where is she?”

What was it with people and waving guns in his face? “Man, I’m telling you, I don’t speak asshole.” He reached for his pocket as though reaching for his keys, and the man took a step forward. The action put his weight on the unsteady leg. Taking control of the gun, he sent it upward even as he went low and struck that bad knee.

The man toppled, and Cannon pointed the gun at the man in the SUV, but he put his foot down and the car screamed out of the lot before he could get a good look at the driver—but not before it bumped the back of the truck.

“Oh man…” Cannon sighed. The vehicle was gone, roaring up the road the way they were headed. That could be a problem. Walking to the back of the truck, he sighed. White paint all over the bumper of his brand-new truck.

Dammit.

Pissed Face groaned and staggered to his feet. He lunged forward, and Cannon twisted, caught him and slammed him into the back of the truck. The man collapsed. “See…no dents. That’s how you do it.”

After putting the weapon away, he got some rope out of the storage locker. “It’s a new truck,” he informed Pissed Face as he secured his hands and feet, then lifted him in a fireman’s carry. He’d dump him in the men’s room with a closed for service sign. Let someone who worked for whatever county this was find him and call the cops.

Finished, he returned to the ladies room. “Come on, Pilar. Time to go.”

Though she didn’t want to admit it, the bathroom break was the best relief for her poor, bruised bladder. For her ego, though? No, she wasn’t feeling the love. Her face looked like she’d kissed the mat after one round with a championship boxer—or like the time she took a hockey puck to the face when she was a kid. The scrape on her face would likely get angrier over time. When she rinsed her mouth out, she managed to reopen the cut inside her lip.

Still, the stop also gave her time to go through purse and make sure she had everything. Necessities like hairbrush with requisite bands looped around the handle. She pulled her hair back and up. If she could have just covered half her face and hidden the bruises, she’d have gone for it. As it was, she wanted to keep it from tangling any more than it already was. Also, in the bag was a book, her wallet, a cell phone that had long since died as she’d forgotten her charger, and an old-style looking music cassette in a plastic case. Everything was intact, thankfully.

When he warned her to get her gun and stay inside, she’d forgotten how to breathe. But once outside, all she saw was the truck in the empty lot. “What happened?”

“Trouble passed through.” The ease of his tone didn’t do her heart rate any favors.

Jerking around, she studied their surroundings. Half-expecting to see men coming at them with guns, she frowned. No soldiers. No smoke. No bodies. Spinning back to face him, she blew out a breath. “Where are they?”

“Come on,” he said, pulling her around to his left side.

“But where are they?” When she would have stopped to look again—he caught her hand in his and pulled her along. He’d made her wait what? Five minutes? How could he have taken care her grandfather’s men so quickly?

“One is probably on the road looking for reinforcements or coming back to circle around, so we should go.” He got the passenger door and nudged her to climb up in his truck. Even in her heels, it would have been a climb. Suddenly his hands were on her waist, warm and firm. He lifted her up and she slid onto the seat and set the purse at her feet. “Buckle up,” he ordered before closing the door.

Her questions had to wait until he was behind the driver’s seat again. He pressed a button, and the car started right up. Keyless entry had always been a convenience, but keyless start? She had car envy.

“What happened to the others?”

“One other,” he said, backing out, and then putting the car into gear. It took no time at all to get back on the road, but instead of continuing the route they’d been following, he went directly across the grassy median.

Holding onto the oh shit handle for dear life, Pilar swallowed a scream. On the far side of the highway, he turned left and they were heading back the way they’d come.

“He’s unconscious in the men’s bathroom. When he wakes up face to face with the urinal cake, he’ll have plenty of time to rethink his life.” Wearing an unrepentant grin, Cannon tapped the steering wheel. “I forgot to hit the vending machine, but we’ll find food soon. There’s more water in the cargo box, so I can grab it out of there at the next stop. Jerky, too.”

Who was this guy? Pilar opened her mouth to demand an answer, then snapped it shut again. The guy was risking his life for her—after she slammed her car into his. Their whole new definition of crashing into you aside, she had nowhere else to go. The friends most capable of helping weren’t ones she could trust. Too many were on the family payroll.

Just like me…

“Don’t look like that,” Cannon said, the ease in his tone washing over her like warm rain, not comforting and yet soothing at the same time. “I’m not a big fan of traps, even the sloppy man gets lucky sometimes. There was an exit two miles back, another small road, but we can angle south and gradually east. We’ll make it back to West Virginia, maybe even Virginia.”

“Why there?” Even after the truck was back on solid pavement, she was unwilling to let go of the handle. Battered, shaken, and definitely stirred, she wanted nothing more than to be thousands of miles away, hidden in some grass shack on a beach where the hardest decision was what color umbrella would come in the drink.

“Friends.” A non-committal response.

“Weren’t you going the other way?” Not that he’d told her his destination.

“Changed my mind.” There it was again, the same unrepentant, devil-may-care grin. “I figure away from Trouble is where you were headed, and I did say I’d get you there.”

“You’re insane.” The words slipped out, regrettably, but she couldn’t dispute the facts. He had to be crazy.

“Hmm,” he said, seeming to roll the sound around in his mouth. Her uncle used to sample wine the same way, swirling it on his tongue and then seeming almost constipated before he pronounced whether the drink was worthy of consumption. Finally, Cannon scrunched his face in a gruesome and altogether fantastically adorable grimace. “Guilty, I’m afraid. Still, we got the truck and we’re alive. I call those solid marks in the win column.”

Pilar opened her mouth to dispute either as wins, at least not in a balance sheet when she had so many strikes in the loss column.

“At least if you add weight to survival, which I always do.” His follow-up remark silenced her. “There it is…” The comment pulled her attention in front of her as he slowed to take a right on a road she would never have noticed. This wasn’t like most highways or throughways she’d ever traveled. Some of the roads crossed it with only stop signs on their side. Of course, the lack of traffic would make that easy.

The new road was tiny and plunged them into darkness between thick trees. “Are you sure this is a road?” Leaning forward, she squinted as if it would make the trees back off and give her a better view.

“Well, road might be a generous term.” The dips and bumps in the cracked, faded, and resealed black top bounced them along. Fortunately, the truck seemed to have good shocks. “But it’s away from the main route and can buy us time to put some distance between us.”

Guilt nibbled at her conscience. This poor guy had been driving along, minding his own business. Now he was in the middle of her mess. “Maybe you should drop me off at the next gas station or truck stop we find. I can give you cash to cover the damage already done, and let you get back on the road to the trip that had to be better than this one.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, not missing a beat though his gaze never left the road. Which was good, because what light had been left seemed to vanish behind all the trees.

Where the hell were they driving? Narnia? Oz? Please don’t be Mordor. “You don’t have to confide in me. In fact, I’m not sure I have room in me for more secrets.” The last was a slip, and from the way he glanced at her, he’d caught it.

“You seem like the kind of gal who can handle what life throws at her.”

“Gal?” Every time she thought she had the guy pinned down, he threw her for a loop. Who said gal anymore? Didn’t it go out in somewhere in the last century? “Who are you?”

“A friend, and right now, you seem to need a friend. Don’t know who those guys are or where they are coming from. You don’t have to share, not yet anyway. That might change, but we’ll blow that bridge when we come to it.” With every syllable, he chipped away at her bottom line. The one that said she didn’t have any right to involve him, yet she had. The one detailing every mistake that put her on a collision course with danger, yet here she was. The one suggesting the best way out was to find a payphone and turn herself into her grandfather before anyone else got hurt.

“I do need a friend,” she blurted out, hating how needy she sounded. “But friends don’t put friends in the line of fire.”

“No, friends never leave a friend behind.” He reached over and took her hand. “I’ve got your back. When you’re ready to tell me what’s going on, you can. Until then, I’ll keep you alive. We good?”

The grip of his fingers over hers offered more than comfort, more than security—it was a promise she wasn’t alone, and God how she wanted to accept it. “Why?”

“People haven’t been nice to you, have they, sweetheart?” The warm timbre of his voice sent a shiver along her spine.

“Not particularly, no.” Hateful as it might be, she was used to people disappointing her, or worse, leading her on only to shatter the illusion at the worst possible moment.

“Well, fuck them.” Blunt, to the point of painful. “You keep your walls up and your weapons out. Still not making me walk away.”

“But…why?” No one was that nice. “No one goes out of their way for a complete stranger.”

The long-suffering sigh he released almost made her laugh, mostly because his smile didn’t falter. “Because we survived a fire fight together. That makes us pretty damn far from strangers.”

He had a point. “I’m overthinking all of this. I know I am. Doesn’t mean I can stop just because you say so.” Pilar squeezed his fingers. “It also means if you tell me all this only to lull me into trusting you, and it turns out to be a lie, I might be tempted to shoot you.”

With a light tug, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed one of her abraded knuckles. “Sweetheart, if it all turns out to be a lie, then you should definitely shoot me, not just be tempted by it.”

Dammit. The man’s charm had charm.

She laughed. “Deal.”

Chapter 3

The off-track route took them into the mountains. Not the worst place to be, but also not the best. Curving through the trees, he nearly missed the sheer drop in one place. Fortunately, the truck had excellent traction. Even as they left the shelter of the trees and the road widened, their problems were far from over. The fuel gauge swung closer and closer toward empty, and he hadn’t seen a gas station in hours.

He had a stash of emergency fuel in a container in the back, but only five gallons. Still, it should be enough to get them to supplies. He’d eaten two protein bars and coaxed Pilar into trying one. Though she hated it, she’d still eaten every bit of it. So food and fuel were covered, as much as he could.

The snow beginning to fall offered a great big middle finger from Mother Nature—or did it? Snow could slow down her pursuers. That was a positive. The change in temperature meant turning up the heat so his passenger didn’t freeze, which would increase fuel consumption.

Fine, he’d call it fifty-fifty with the weather gods. Pilar’s breathing changed, and she took a deeper breath. She’d fallen asleep an hour before, still not having shared who was after her or why. Didn’t matter, as he’d meant it when he told her he’d get her somewhere safe. The harsh inhale warned him that she’d woken up afraid or at the very least startled.

Catching her hand, he gave her fingers a light squeeze. “You’re still safe, sweetheart. We’re still on the road.”

“I was kind of hoping it was a bad dream,” she murmured in that sleep thickened sexy voice of hers. “The part about the men with guns, not the you part.”

Hey, he had a part. “Glad to hear it.” Keeping it light was a skill he’d cultivated over the years, and one his teammates appreciated. Didn’t matter if they were taking mortar fire, tucked into position to wait out an assigned go time, or jumping out of planes, Cannon didn’t sweat the small stuff.

“Where are we?” She rubbed a hand over her face, then jerked her hand away. “Dammit, my face hurts.”

“I’ve got something in the first aid kit.” He should have offered it earlier. Bruised or not, he’d suffered plenty worse. Somehow he doubted her experience was the same.

“I’ll live.” Shoving herself up in the seat, she groaned and seemed to decry her declaration. “Where are we?”

“The middle of fucking nowhere.” His phone had zero signal, and even the truck couldn’t find their location on its much-vaunted GPS. For the last three hours, he’d been missing his sat phone. “We’re heading southwest, roughly. If my calculations are right, we’re going to end up in Tennessee, and we can turn east from there.”

Silence greeted his statement. Pilar pushed her hair away from her face. The mass had been tickling his arm for the last hour, and he’d enjoyed the sensation. After finishing the last of the water in her nearly empty bottle, she said, “I hate to be a bother, but I need to pee. Again.”

The snow made a pit stop along the winding road a distinctly uncomfortable option. He’d figure something out. “Got it. Urgent? Kind of urgent? I can wait an hour if I have to?”

“You really like to define things.” Not an unfair observation. “Kind of urgent, but I can last a bit longer.”

Rolling his head from side to side, he ignored the taut pull across his shoulders. A hot shower and some stretches, and he’d be fine. “I like defining them because I don’t have your baseline. I’ve got one buddy who will say he needs to hit the head, and if he’s mentioning it, then it means he needs to go right now. Got another that will let us know a whole half-day ahead of the event.”

“Event?” The hesitation on the question mark in the sentence made him grin.

“Oh yeah, and no I won’t give you more details. They’re gruesome.”

Her groan-laugh carried both humor and disgust. “Thank you, and sorry I asked.”

“You didn’t ask.” It was like taking a stick to check to see if the snake would bite and if it was venomous at the same time. “But you seemed concerned about my need for details. Details are the building blocks of good planning. The only bad plan is the failure to make one in the first place.”

The snow deepened beyond his headlights, creating a curtain effect. The tires could handle it so far, but if the temperatures kept dropping—ice would be an issue.

“I wasn’t concerned so much as…it’s weird. I get detail-oriented. I’m an accountant, so I’d have to be.” Leaning back in the seat, she stretched her arms forward and her legs as much as she was able. They definitely needed a break from the truck. Maybe when they got of the damn mountain, they could find a hotel or at least another rest stop. If the snow kept up, any shelter would be better than none. “Sorry if I offended you.”

A bark of laughter escaped him. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that to offend me. I’m a go along to get along kind of guy.” Lightning didn’t strike him dead, so it wasn’t a lie. The thought amused him more and he chuckled.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re a wise woman,” he retorted. “Detail oriented and into—accounting? Are people really into numbers?”

“Numbers don’t lie. They can be doctored, they can be manufactured, and they can even be misinterpreted, but the numbers themselves don’t lie.” When she licked her lips, Cannon offered her an unopened bottle of water. He had pulled it out for himself but hadn’t opened it yet. “Oh, thank you.”

“No problem.” He leaned his head to the right. The tautness in his neck was starting to get aggravating. When it popped lightly, relief spread down to his shoulders. “So you went into accounting because numbers are honest?”

“I didn’t say honest. I said they didn’t lie. Numbers are factual, but honesty and truth are fluid. They’re crisp. They’re exact. Nothing else is so—clean. Or at least as clean as they used to be.” Passion infused every word.

“I’m not going to say I understand,” he said instead. “I could fake it and pretend, but I don’t. My world is a little more basic—good guys and bad guys.”

“How do you tell which is which?” The arch tone didn’t match her smile, but it did seem to distract her from the earlier frustration.

Grabbing the thread, he went with it. “As cheesy as it is to quote a movie, it’s effective. If they’re shooting at you, they’re probably bad.”

The dry comment earned another laugh. “It sounds pretty simple.”

“About as simple as your faith that numbers don’t lie. You can be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can be mistaken for someone else. You can be shot at by friend and foes.”

“That’s such a bleak outlook, isn’t it?” Resignation marred her tone.

“Not if you don’t let it be,” he said. When he likely should have dropped it, he pushed on with the breach. Getting in and getting out was where he lived. “We try to live the best life we can, a good life, a clean and honest one. Sometimes secrets get in the way. The choices you face then are to play it dirty, exploit their flaws, or live down to our own. Strategically, we could use their mistakes against them. Every day, we do this—whether it’s cutting in line for coffee at the local shop or fighting for a job, a contract, or whatever it is we want that someone else may have or take away. But if you put all those exploitive choices behind you and let those secrets go, and you come out of it clean and honest, then you win.”

More words than he was used to saying in one go, but he believed every single one.

“God, I want to believe that’s true.”

“Then decide to believe it. Make it true for you.” That was how he survived every single thing he’d gone through. The only way he had been able make it out the other side, with the scars to prove it.

“That’s really easy to say,” she argued. “What if you make really shitty decisions?”

“Over the years, we do some things good, some of them bad. The decision you make to help one person can hurt someone else. The decision to save them could hurt you. The decision not to? Could hurt worse.”

“So you’re basically telling me we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t?”

Not exactly, but he liked how she aligned them. “What I’m saying is we make our choices. We make sacrifices or we choose against it. Whatever we do, we live with them. Sometimes life happens in a way that’s utterly out of our control.”

A long silence stretched between them, and she said, “What if I think I committed a crime? Or at least, I was party to one?”

“You think? You don’t know?” The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was the same sensation when he saw the vapor trail of the incoming rocket. If he heard fire, he knew it wasn’t for him. But somewhere in those dangerous, fluid moments, he had to just keep moving and wait to see who the boom took.

“No,” she said with a hard sniff. Between that and the strangled note in her voice, the glacial calm she’d embraced began to crack. “I don’t. Now I’m…in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, in a snowstorm, with some poor guy I just met with people shooting at me—and I really, really need to pee.”

Time for plan B.

And a bucket.

“How adventurous are you?”

“Remind me to never advertise how adventurous I am,” Pilar said thirty minutes later. If she’d known what he planned, she would have said no. As it was, she didn’t think her face would ever cool. Blushing had not been a thing for her, not growing up around all the guys in the family. Yet, here she sat, face flaming like some kind of comic book character

“You did fine, sweetheart.” Crystals of snow and rapidly melting ice glinted against his reddish-blond hair. “I put fuel in the truck’s tank while you emptied yours…”

“Oh my God.” She startled, then twisted to look at him. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Ever?” He slanted a look toward her. They were back to following the road to damn nowhere and snow was everywhere. It might be pretty, if not for the sensation of the world closing in on her. When she ran, she thought she’d go straight to the Justice Department. Or maybe the FBI. They had the resources to deal with her family…the family. Not hers, not anymore.

“Ever.” No matter what else she had to face, the idea of discussing her using a bucket in the back seat of his truck needed to never come up again.

“All right.” The level of his amiability should piss her off, but it didn’t. It kind of fascinated her. “I’m keeping an eye on this storm. If I’m following the terrain right, we’re coming down the mountain now. Hopefully that means we’ll get to an interstate or a larger route.”

Trusting him, she took his word for it. “Then what?”

“Then we find a place to rest, refuel, and you can tell me where we’re going.” He stretched his neck again, and the vertebrae popped. His jaw tightened, the dashboard lights illuminating the tense cut of his face. When the light came on during their stop, he’d given her another of those carefree grins even as he explained his insane plan. Well, maybe only a little insane. He’d managed to solve her problem handily, even if it embarrassed her.

Pressing her foot against the side of her purse, which currently sat on the floor, she blew out a breath. “Can I trust you, Cannon?” Weird to ask, especially when she already seemed to be doing exactly that.

“All depends on you.”

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the seat. Exhaustion rode her in waves. Since dinner at her grandfather’s, she’d slept an odd hour here or there. Usually when she’d been too tired to go any further. Those naps didn’t last long, and she yawned. They were always just two steps behind her and naps let them catch up.

It was why she’d been racing down the road, looking at her rearview mirror instead of in front of her. The sound of the crash echoed in her memory, and she blinked her eyes open. A dimly-lit building sat beyond the partially obscured windshield. Where the hell…?

The driver’s side door opened and she jerked to find Cannon sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Hey, sweetheart, I found a place. It doesn’t look like much, but we can catch some real sleep and maybe a shower.” He didn’t wait for her response as he backed the truck out of the spot. “I got us a place around back and on the end. They aren’t full and don’t expect to be. It should be quiet and it puts the baby out of sight from the road.”

Baby? He named his truck? If she lived to be a hundred, she would never understand men. Letting that go, she rubbed her face and winced. Bruised and abraded flesh did not like to be touched, and she kept forgetting she’d hurt herself—until she started throbbing all over again. “Where are we?”

“Nowhere, Tennessee. Or it might still be West Virginia. Maybe Kentucky. The name on the sign was pretty unspecific and definitely not welcoming. I don’t care at the moment, because it’s the middle of nowhere and I’ll take it.” As promised, he parked in another slip behind the building. “Grab your purse.” He reached into the backseat and pulled out a duffel. “It’s cold, but the room should be warm. Do you need a coat?”

Since the rest of her things burned with her car, she shook her head. It wasn’t that far to the room. “One room?”

“One room,” he confirmed, then removed his gun from the lockbox between the seats. He relocked it, but not before she saw a second weapon inside and another magazine or two. The man continued to surprise her. Armed. Dangerous. Effective. It was kind of like traveling with a movie action hero, only he was real enough to touch.

So why didn’t he scare her?

“Let’s do it.” Purse gripped in her hand, she paused when he didn’t leap into motion. Instead, he stared at her. The cant of his head suggested he studied her, and the corners of his mouth curved and the dimples in his cheeks deepened. The look worked for him, transforming him from pretty boy next door to roguishly attractive. The whole effect elevated him from dangerous to pure trouble.

Dammit. She’d always liked trouble.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, then grinned wider. “Wait here until I check the room… Glock out.”

It took her only a moment to close her hand over the grip of the gun, and he nodded once before leaving her in the truck. The room was on the ground level. Why didn’t he take one upstairs? But even as she studied the layout, she understood. Upstairs had two access points—both stairwells. The only way out if those were blocked was over the railing.

She would prefer not to break their legs. When he reappeared, relief cascaded through the knotting muscles in her gut. Though she didn’t think it necessary, he returned to the car and helped her out. Her legs protested immediately, and so did her ass. It had gone numb and she’d failed to notice it.

Cannon didn’t comment on her near stumble, just slipped an arm around her waist and walked them to the hotel room. The quiet beep from the truck accompanied by a flash of the lights told her he’d locked it.

“How long was I asleep?” Pins and needles were the worst damn thing ever. Sharp, shooting pains lanced through her legs with every step.

“About four hours.”

Four hours? She dropped her purse onto the bed and sat next to it. As much as she wanted to stretch her legs, she curled her toes inside her shoes in an effort to speed the waking up. “How is that even possible?”

“You were tired?” He threw the security bar over the top of the door and closed the blinds. Despite the remote location, the room wasn’t the worst she’d ever seen. It smelled clean, without any hints of mold or mildew.

The green color, however, was pretty damn atrocious.

“It looks like the seventies threw up in here,” Cannon said. He tossed his duffel onto the bed then took her arm to help her rise. Then he walked her over to the other bed, the one closest to the interior wall. She sat, a little bewildered, as he took the gun from her fingers. Crap, she half forgot she had a hold of it. He grabbed her purse and sat it next to her.

“Gun goes on the nightstand, safety on. If someone comes through that door, you and your gun, go that way…” He pointed to the bathroom. “There’s a window in there. It’s a bit narrow, but you’ll get through it fine.” He held up his truck keys. “These are going to be on the nightstand, too. You take them with the gun. You circle the building—it’s about three hundred feet—and then you come out in a little breezeway about five doors down to our left. Watch your six and check your surroundings. If you can get to my baby, you climb in, hit auto start, and get the hell out of here.”

The more he spoke, the wider her eyes grew. She gaped at him. “You have a battle plan?”

“Always,” he said with a nod, then he stripped off his jacket and his shirt. He lifted the fabric to his nose, sniffing it. She forgot about the clothes at the revelation he’d been hiding beneath it. Where she’d thought him as lean and controlled, she found him to be all tightly ripped muscle. There was a hint of a scar on his forearm. When he turned, there was an abrasion along his back—one that couldn’t possibly have come from the accident.

Her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth as she traced her gaze along his spine to his hips. Despite the red hair and freckles, he wasn’t pasty white at all. He had a hint of amber and gold to his skin tone, kissed by the loveliest freckles on his back and shoulders.

“Pilar?”

Her face flamed all over again when she found him staring at her. Running a hand over her mouth, surreptitiously she hoped, she made sure she wasn’t drooling. “Sorry, you were saying scary things about an escape plan?”

“Repeat it, please. Better for you to know it enough to react immediately. If you don’t think you can do it, I need to know. If you’re going to freeze during an attack, it could get you killed.”

“I haven’t frozen yet. I mostly managed, you know, to stay ahead of them until I ran into you.” Barely, but she had.

“Good job.” He folded his shirt, then rolled it tight before opening the duffel and pulling out a clean one. Like the one he’d removed, he sniffed this one. “Go over the plan again.”

He wanted her to think while he strutted around the hotel room like some Irish god come to life. Why was her life so damn unfair? “Gun and keys on the nightstand. If someone comes through the door, I take both and go to the bathroom, shimmy out the window, then run around the back of the building to the breezeway. If I have a clear path to the truck, I get in and drive away, leaving you on your own to face whomever it is.” She finished the recitation, then sucked in a breath. “I hate the plan.”

“There is no hating of the plan in survival. It’s what you’ll do. It gets you out of the immediate line of fire and gives me more freedom to focus on whatever is coming after us.” Even as he spoke, he switched to checking his gun. “When was the last time you cleaned the Glock?”

“A week ago, and I haven’t fired it yet.” Taking care of a gun was something she knew how to do. “I hate leaving you to fight my battles. What if there are more of them? You said there were two at the rest stop.”

The quick, easy grin gracing his lips never faltered. “Doesn’t matter how many of them there are. There’s only one door.” Finished going over his weapon, he went to the room’s closet and checked inside. Nodding in satisfaction, he pulled out a rather uncomfortable looking metal foldout. Not that he told her why considering they had two beds. “Go grab a shower, if you want one.”

“I do, but I kind of hate showering and putting on dirty clothes.” Hers still smelled like smoke, and fuel, and something she didn’t want to identify but feared might be body odor.

“I’ve got some sweats in the bag, and they’re clean. They’ll be big on you, but the drawstring should work. We can get you more clothes later.” He left the foldout where it was for a moment and went through his bag. “I’ve got deodorant in here, too. Toothpaste, and a couple of toothbrushes.” He added the items to the growing stack next to the duffel. “Might have a comb.” The small, short-toothed one he pulled out earned a skeptical look from him. “I have no idea how it will work on your hair. I don’t need much.”

As if to prove his point, he raked his fingers through the wavy mass on his head. It wasn’t quite military cut, but it was higher on the sides and kept his ears clear.

“You’re like a superhero,” she blurted out and ignored the wave of embarrassment this time. He carried the stack over to her and winked.

“No, ma’am. I’m only a sailor.”

Bullshit. Fortunately, her overactive mouth didn’t blurt the thought. There was nothing only about him at all. He was larger than life. “If you say so,” she said, proud of the control. “Thank you for the clothes and the comb.” Her hair could be dealt with. If necessary, she’d braid it while wet. It might take a couple of days to dry that way. “Worst case, I’ll just cut it off.”

“Don’t.” The immediate denial gave her pause.

“It might discourage pursuit.”

“I don’t care,” he told her, and a shiver prickled along her spine. For a moment, she forgot all about the ache in her face and the shooting pains in her legs. Everything faded except for the intensity in his green eyes as he stared at her. “I like your hair. You let me worry about the pursuit and keep the hair.”

All the moisture fled her mouth, and she gathered the items he’d offered to her chest as she stood. Holding them in front of her just reminded her of how good he smelled in the truck. How nice his truck smelled.

I don’t know him! Her body didn’t give one good goddamn what she knew or didn’t. Everything in her hummed at his nearness, and the man was just looking at her. Even her nipples perked, the tightening skin sending a coil of heat to her belly, and her thighs tightened.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” she managed to push out without squeaking. “I’m going to shower now.” A very cold, cold shower to slap some sense back into her.

“I’ll be here.”

His promise followed her into the small bathroom. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it. Heart hammering in her chest, she closed her eyes. Of all the times to meet someone who turned her on, it had to be while she ran from mafia-like family after overhearing her grandfather putting a hit on someone and realizing all the money she secured in so many accounts was probably dirty.

Pilar was so screwed.

And not even in a nice way.

Glancing at the mirror, she grimaced. The bruise looked worse, if that was possible, but there was no denying the spark in her eyes. Cannon was gorgeous, tough, and so freaking happy all the time. He made her want to smile because he was.

He’s not yours, Pilar. Get your mind out of the gutter. Even the mental chastisement had no effect on her rising libido.

Cold shower it was.

The thought lasted right until she stepped under the icy spray and yelped.

“Pilar?” His hot-bodied self was right outside her door. “Are you okay?”

Flattened against the porcelain wall and out of reach of the icy spray, she called, “I’m fine. Water’s chilly.”

Like Elsa levels of chilly, and she wasn’t going to let it go. Scooting out, she switched the water to warmer and shuddered. What a mess.

“Okay.” Cannon was still there, right on the other side of the door. She could just open it up and invite him in to join her. Lots of her friends in college had hooked up with guys they’d known five minutes. She’d known him a whole ten—twelve hours? Maybe longer.

Shoving herself back under the cold spray, she closed her eyes and sucked it up. Because bad decisions came from just leaping, and she needed facts. Figures. Numbers.

Not the super-hot, delicious guy with the devastating smile and sexy green eyes.

The mental pep talk didn’t last longer than a few seconds.

Who was she trying to kid?

Chapter 4

Listening to her shower was its own special kind of hell. Cannon was not a monk—far from it. Any other time, he’d totally have offered to go in and warm the room up for her, or at least warm her up. But Pilar wasn’t just anyone, and they weren’t having any other time. Duress had sent her running for her life and crashing into his. The last thing she needed was a horny guy trying to get into her pants.

Even if she was going to look hella sexy wearing his sweats. Instead, he stayed busy while she showered. His phone still had shit for signal, so he used the room phone to call Jacko. When he got the voicemail, he had to laugh. He was calling from an unknown number, so why would their tech guru answer? “It’s Cannon. I’m on the move with a client.” It stretched the truth, since she hadn’t actually hired him or the company. “The weather’s been damn hot, so if you could check the forecast and get us some reservations at a relaxing spot, I’d appreciate it. Tickets for me and Pilar Napolitano.”

Jacko would understand the code.

“I’ll be at this number for about the next day, then we’re on the road. Maybe call back around six.” A day would tell him 24 hours and to call around six, would tell him to divide the first by it. Anyone else listening wouldn’t know the key to translate it. It didn’t matter if they didn’t know who he was or where they were at the moment. She genuinely had people shooting at her, and he’d play it paranoid.

Paranoia kept people alive.

He hung up and waited a beat. The shower was still running. Checking his watch, he sighed. It was later than he’d thought. His shower could wait until they hit the road. He stripped the rest of his clothes and changed into something clean. A quick pit check said deodorant, and he added that. There was a sink on the outside of the bathroom, so he brushed his teeth then repacked his duffel—everything folded and tucked.

He’d already done one more check of the windows before he settled on the bed, duffel and gun next to him. It gave him the perfect vantage for the door to the room and the bathroom.

Steam accompanied Pilar as she exited.

It was a good thing he was lying down, because his blood all headed south. She looked even better in his clothes than he’d pictured. A towel was wrapped around the beautiful curtain of black hair. Her cheeks were rosy from the shower, and the bruising around her nose had darkened. He hated the sight of the injury but appreciated the wound for the life it symbolized. She’d survived the car accident. She’d survived the pursuit of her unknown assailants.

The dead weren’t injured. They were just dead.

Pilar made it all the way to him. The thought hesitated, as if sensing the IED waiting to go off if he followed it to the natural conclusion.

Fuck it. He’d always been the guy who delivered the boom. She made it all the way to me, and I’m really fucking good with that. Just need to get her through this, then ask her out, and spend some time convincing her how good for her I am.

“Everything all right?” She stood next to her bed, toweling her long dark hair. The action had her bent slightly and pulled his t-shirt against her chest. Every move of her arms as she worked the towel over her hair highlighted the chill in the room.

Shaking his head, Cannon had to laugh. Possessing a dirty mind had always been a source of joy for him and a great way to tease his friends. Huh. Maybe I should have called Flint. Jacko could pull research, but Flint’s girl would be good at digging dirt, too. She was a journalist, so why hadn’t he called? Maybe because I don’t want to share yet. Flint would see right through him, too. With Jacko, he stood a minute chance of avoiding scrutiny. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.” It took a moment’s mental reset to remember what she’d asked, but he had it now. He wouldn’t forget again. “Feel better after the shower?”

“I almost feel like a new woman. After all the sleep in the truck, I’m not sure I’m going to get much sleep here.” She made a liar out of herself with a yawn.

“Rest your eyes then, take a beat, and a breath.” As soon as she settled, he would doze. He had a good internal clock.

“Are you going to shower?” It was a fair question, and he’d thought about it. But he wouldn’t be comfortable in the shower unless she was there where he could protect her. And that thought brought up way too many other things he’d like to explore with her.

Rather than broach any of those topics, he kept it light. “Trying to tell me I stink?”

“No.” She sounded almost horrified by the suggestion. “I kind of like the way you smell.”

“Oh, really?” He had one arm behind his head for a pillow, and he clenched that fist while he forced the rest of him to relax. His cock ignored his efforts, because the breathy exclamation at the end of her statement appealed to him on the most basic levels.

Her tongue appeared between her teeth as though she were fighting the urge to bite it. Damn tempting urge if he did say so himself. “You know what, yep. You smell good and I enjoy it.” She pivoted and carried the towel over to toss into the bathroom. Internally, he winced. A little.

Although he wasn’t a neat freak by nature, between his mother’s rules and the Navy’s? He didn’t leave anything lying around if he could help it. “Good to know. You smell pretty.”

“Pretty isn’t a description for a scent. It’s for how someone looks or dresses.”

“You qualify, in all categories.” Heh. Pure masculine satisfaction rolled through him when she swung around to face him. The long, damp hair clung to her, and it was a damn pity the shirt he’d given her was dark gray. He should have pulled out a white one or something.

“Thank you.” She disappeared into the bathroom, then returned carrying her clothes. Hell, if she just tossed them…whew. She didn’t. Instead, she folded them as neatly as possible. “I don’t know why I’m bothering with this. I’m never getting some of these stains out.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He’d buy her new ones. Might as well use his trust fund on something his mother would approve of rather than only funneling it into the investments, land, and real estate purchases he’d been making. When he was done, they would have a safe house in every state and in several other countries. They already had one plane, but he wanted three. Every purchase had to be handled discreetly and through a series of shell companies to avoid undo scrutiny, because they were off the books and needed to stay that way.

“No, I’ll figure it out. I think you saving my life and driving me to this…provincial little paradise spot in the middle of nowhere constitutes going above and beyond. The last thing I need is to take the shirt off your back when I am more than capable of going to a dry cleaner at some point.” Her argument went a little off the rails, but damn, she was fun. She managed to say all of that without sounding even an ounce snooty, just determined.

“Not to be the jackass who points it out or anything, but you are wearing my shirt.”

Her nose wrinkled, then she grimaced as if the act pained her. Finally, she settled for glaring at him, one hand on her hip. “You didn’t take this shirt off your back. You took it out of your bag.”

Laughter shook him. “Point and match. Do you need to dry your hair?”

“Yes,” she admitted, even as her grin faded. “But I don’t want to. The dryer makes a lot of noise.”

“Sweetheart, I can sleep through mortars firing. Go dry your hair. You need to be comfortable if you’re going to relax.”

The narrowed eyed gaze she’d gave him earlier grew thoughtful. “You really were a sailor?”

“Um-hmm.” He nodded and let his eyes drift close. “No distractions. Dry your hair.” Because if she kept standing there looking warm, beautiful, and a little lost, he’d get up to comfort her. Not that she’d asked him to or seemed to need it from him, but because he wanted to be the one to offer it. We’re not there yet. Slow the boat, take stock, devise the plan, and implement the plan—after I take care of whomever is chasing her.

They would have that conversation in the morning. He respected her privacy, but if she had information he could use to keep her safe, then she needed to share. Pilar lingered for a moment longer, then finally went back to the bathroom. The in wall blow dryer turned on. It sounded a bit pathetic, and he let himself drift.

He’d already oriented on everything in the room—the way it sounded when she walked, and the becoming rapidly familiar way she smelled. Palm flat over his gun, he let his tired eyes rest.

Four hours.

Not one minute more.

A noise that didn’t belong snapped Cannon’s eyes open. He rose, gun in hand and listened. Silent, he was very well aware of the moment Pilar’s breathing changed. She was awake. He held a finger up, hoping she understood the need to remain quiet. Outside, the soft sound of a door closing galvanized him. He pointed her to the bathroom.

Without argument, she slid out of the bed and snagged her borrowed boots, her gun, and the keys. Goddamn, she did it without too much additional noise. Proud, he focused his attention on the outside—the soft crunch of snow beneath boots. The whisper of movement underscored by the glide of the window in the bathroom. He hit a mental count of ten when the window closed again.

The sound of a magazine clip being slotted and the load of a bullet to the chamber, obnoxiously loud in a silence barely punctuation by the beat of his heart, warned him. He hit the floor and pulled the mattress from the guest cot and his bed forward and over him. Bullets pummeled the room. The barrage lasted only a few seconds, but the ringing in his ears stretched out like a secondary assault. The metal frame of the metal foldout did its job and bounced the door back at them when they attempted to kick it in. A man swore, and that gave Cannon cue.

The mattresses wouldn’t have protected him from bullets, but they did keep the flying glass and debris from hitting him. Rising from beneath, he locked sights on the man who entered and shot him—three bullets, two center mass and one at the neck in case he was wearing a vest. Another rushed in right behind and he took the second guy with two bullets—one in the neck and the second in the head.

A bullet sliced the air past him so close, he could swear the heat brushed his skin. Training took over—twist, sight, fire. Two more went down. A fifth slammed into him. A big guy, built like a damn tank. Pivot, elbow to the face, leg hooked behind the big guy’s knee, fist to the throat and the man went down—a lumbering tree falling in macabre forest of shattered glass and floating pillow stuffing.

Five bodies.

Adrenaline surging, he stepped over the bodies and checked the lot. His truck engine hummed, but there were only two other vehicles—both off and both empty. A sweep left, clear. A sweep right, clear. A slow pull back to the lot, ignoring the icy sensation of snow on his arms.

Sleeping with his boots on had served its purpose.

The second-floor landing—clear. At the driver’s side door to his truck, he met Pilar’s wild-eyed gaze. Alive, pale, and a little panicky looking—but she’d done exactly as he’d asked her to and without hesitation.

Lowering his gun, and satisfied the assault had concluded, he strode back into the room. Zip ties in his bag secured the downed men—some habits were hard to break. The phone had survived the hail of bullets. Finally, something went their way. Dialing Tex’s number, he waited for the SEAL to answer his phone. “Hey, boss…”

The nickname he gave him was an old joke and code. They’d never served on the same team, but Tex was a solid, stand up person. He understood Cannon’s need to distance himself from his family even when Cannon hadn’t been able to articulate it. Sometimes, a guy just needed someone to listen without criticism or judgment. Flint was Cannon’s best friend, but Tex was kind of like his priest.

“Need a cleanup crew and law enforcement. Five down, two vehicles. No IDs, and this is the third assault in…thirty hours, give or take.” He noted the details on each man as he saw it and gave him a statement on the attack. “I’ve got a client. Removing her from the scene. She was not in the room when it went down.” Pilar wouldn’t be able to give a statement on the battle, because she hadn’t been in it.

“You good?” Two words, but Tex could say a lot with very little.

“Five by five.” A sting somewhere along his shoulder suggested he might have wrenched something, but he did a cursory check for burning sensation or firebrand stings. Not his blood. Movement next to him, and he slanted his gaze to the downed big man. The guy groaned and seemed to be trying to get to his feet. “One available for questioning. Gonna let him sleep it off. Temperature is dropping rapidly, so response needs to be soon.”

“Understood. Get clear. I’ll take care of it. Check in when you’re secure.”

“Thanks.” Hanging up the phone, he picked up the whole old school heavy bottomed phone and clocked the big man. The phone broke and the man went down. “Good night.”

Done, he grabbed his duffel then shook the glass off her clothes. A quick roll and they were secure. Certain they left nothing behind, he grabbed her purse and strode out into the still falling snow. Opening the back door, he secured the duffel then opened the driver’s side and held out her purse.

Covering her trembling hand as she accepted the bag, he said, “Time to trust me, sweetheart.”

Though the day grew lighter as Cannon drove, it still snowed. They’d made it less than fifteen miles from the—no, her mind refused to think about what had happened at the hotel room. She’d seen the men shooting, heard the horribleness of it all. It played in slow motion in her head. For several, awful seconds, she’d thought Cannon died.

She’d never been so happy or so terrified, as when she’d seen him walk out of the room. Now, standing in the snow, she braced the tire Cannon removed.

“New truck, down two tires.” The grumbling carried no heat, but guilt twisted her insides. She hadn’t even realized one of the other tires had been damaged. Fortunately, he had a spare in the back and something to repair the other one. Pilar didn’t ask.

“You said it was time to trust you.” She spoke softly, gathering up every ounce of courage. “You’re right. I didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to involve you because…no one deserves to have their life imploded by someone else’s drama.”

He tightened the lugnuts on the tire he’d just fixed into place. So calm and at ease, he didn’t seem affected by what they’d gone through or the fact they stood in the freezing cold. She liked the iciness of it, because she needed the bracing to get through the fog of everything.

“Now, I don’t want to tell you because I don’t want to drive you away. It’s not a pretty story.” The very last thing she wanted to do was lose him. He was rapidly becoming the brightest spot in her darkness, a stable place when the very foundation of her world wouldn’t stop crumbling away. Enough was enough. “I told you my last name is Napolitano. That’s partially true, as I was born one. My father wasn’t part of the family and my mother ran away to be with him. He died when I was little in a car crash—drunk driver clipped him. I don’t really remember it. One day he was there, and the next he was gone. What I do remember was how lost my mother seemed, and that my grandfather showed up the next day.”

The memories swamped over her, but still seemed like they happened to someone else. Whether it was because of the shock of losing her dad or the hazy lens of time and memory, she didn’t know.

“He was this larger than life man with a booming laugh and a soft voice. I’d never met him before that day, but he came in and told my mother we were coming home to live with him. That he would take care of everything. I woke up in my bed that morning. By evening, I went to sleep in my new room. His house was huge and always filled with people. He indulged me, told me jokes, and sent me to the best schools. Yet, the place never felt like home. Probably that was because, from the moment we moved in, my mother seemed to just fade away.”

Swallowing, Pilar forced back the tears the next part always drew from her. “When I was sixteen, Mom killed herself. Grandfather said she died from a weak heart and never referred to the pills she took. I don’t think he realized I saw the bottles when I found her. Maybe he didn’t care. For years, in my head, that was how I remembered her death—she died of a weak heart, even if I knew about the pills. Grandfather said it, so it had to be true.”

Cannon finished the tire and rose, cleaning up the tools and storing them. Her teeth chattered together. Whether it was the cold getting to her or ripping open old wounds, she didn’t know.

Plunging onward, she said, “I grew up in this bubble. Grandfather was the foundation of it. He took care of everything when Daddy died. Took care of us, sent me to schools, bought me nice things, and the people who worked for him were always so polite. I even had my own driver. I thought everyone had these things. We had rules, but all families do, and I was good at following the rules. He always told me I was better than my mother, stronger than her. I understood things. I didn’t get the meaning of those comments, not even when Mom died.”

Dammit, she’d been so stupid. When Cannon urged her back to the truck, she climbed inside and waited for him to slide back into the driver’s seat before she continued.

“When Grandfather told me to study accounting, because that was what I was suited for, I believed him. I liked numbers. They made sense and I liked their logic. Since he paid for college that meant he had a say, too. I went to school, I got a degree, and when I was done, Grandfather gave me a job. I did it and I did it very, very well. They were all numbers.”

At some point, Cannon took her hand. The warmth of it penetrated the chill threatening to trap her forever.

“During all of this, I heard things. I heard people talking to my grandfather and about him, but it was always this kind of distant hum. I made excuses for it or pretended I didn’t understand what they meant. They joked about getting his permission or understanding what his orders were about if he said make something happen, because…he could make anything happen, even the impossible.”

The hardest part of all arrived, and she licked her lips.

“I remember being approached once at school by a guy who said he was a federal agent. Yeah, right—but he wanted to ask me about my grandfather. Now, remember, I knew the rules. Talking to anyone outside the family about the family was a huge no-no. Grandfather was a very private man. Something this guy said to me, it stuck. He said, ‘Petrucci isn’t a name that will take you far, at least not in this world. Don’t let it drag you into his world. Just a word to the wise.’”

Everything about his statement resonated now, but why hadn’t she listened then?

Blind loyalty. Stupid blind loyalty.

“Anyway, Grandfather’s name is Paolo Petrucci. He’s the head of several companies and subsidiaries, and he has ties to multiple organizations. We handle all of their money. I handled all of it. I moved it around, found the best tax shelters, and made sure every dime was accounted for. On paper, he’s an old school Italian who had the smarts to invest wisely and diversify.” She’d helped them. Done their dirty work and hadn’t even realized it. “One day, I realized some of the numbers weren’t adding up. We had a flush new fund that came out of nowhere, so I tracked it down. I did this thinking I didn’t want something to trigger an IRS audit. Even when you’re all on the up and up, it’s still a nightmare of procedure and paperwork. Taking care of the books was my job, what my grandfather asked me to do, what he sent me to school for. I had to do it right, so I did my own audit.”

And opened Pandora’s box.

“The problem with numbers is that they don’t lie. Money doesn’t just appear one day and not have a source. The auditing took me back to the books before I was in charge of them, and they didn’t make sense. Money appeared in the weirdest places, attributed to companies that either didn’t exist or no longer existed. The deeper I dug, the more I began to unravel. There was a code to the way things were entered, so simple that had I ever taken my blinders off, I would have noticed it. Should have. Payments to politicians disguised as campaign donations, spread out over multiple shell corps and individuals—individuals I knew worked closely for my grandfather. More to administrators, law enforcement, union reps and more. Beyond that were payments from individual businesses that we didn’t own, but still came in as franchise fees and profit sharing. An elaborate web of lies to disguise an ugly truth I didn’t want to know.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“It took me three weeks to go through it all, but once I understood the code…I had to know.”

“You checked on your father.” Cannon’s insight was so eerily accurate. “And found the fee paid to…?”

“It was listed as a cable repair, specifically a bypass.” Her father’s life reduced to a log entry in the same blood-soaked books she’d been managing. Her hands would never be clean. “My grandfather is the mob—or mobbed up. He’s Godfather to his little community, and I was his good little soldier. My mother killed herself because she knew. I think she always knew that her father killed her husband. Or maybe she just couldn’t handle knowing what her father was? Lord knows, I can’t handle knowing about my grandfather.”

Sniffing, she wiped away the tears which escaped. “Anyway, after I reconciled my mental books, I did more research. This time in old news files and on the Internet. I finally understood what that FBI agent had been trying to get me to see.” Letting go of Cannon’s hand, she pulled her purse onto her lap and pulled out the cassette tape she’d been hoarding inside it—or at least what looked like a cassette. Pulling it out of its plastic case, she flipped out the hidden switch and revealed the USB connector. “I copied all of the books, every gloriously detailed number, and the breakdowns of what it meant. Including the cable bypass ordered for my place.”

Her grandfather ordered her death. He knew what she’d found. Her loyalty meant nothing.

“I’d been Pilar Petrucci since I was four years old, but I was born a Napolitano. I don’t want to be a Petrucci anymore. I want to be my father’s daughter.”

“And you were taking that where?” Cannon asked. He made no move to take the cassette from her, only slid an arm around her. What had she ever done to luck out in meeting him like she had? Even if he…even if he handled taking out those soldiers like he had.

No, she couldn’t think about those deaths. Those weren’t her fault, and they weren’t Cannon’s.

They hadn’t invited those maniacs to come for them.

“The Justice Department. I can’t remember the FBI agent’s name. I know he gave me a card, but I couldn’t find it, and I just knew I had to get out of New York. I thought if I took a road trip, pretended I was going to see someone from college, Grandfather wouldn’t notice.” She’d been wrong.

“Okay…then we’re going to D.C. I’ve got friends who can help. We’ll get you to the Justice Department, and you can do this.”

“Can I?” The trembling came from her very core.

“You can. Do you mind if I go through your purse?”

What? “Why?”

“Because they’re tracking you. There’s no other explanation for how they found us at that hotel, at least not one I’d accept at the moment.”

Her stomach sank. “Of course they are…because who doesn’t track their grandchild so you can send a hit squad against them?” Dammit, she’d loved her grandfather. Passing her purse over, she stared into the snow as Cannon went through it. A part of her didn’t want to know he was right, even if her gut told her he was. “Bit by bit, everything I am seems to be disappearing. Who I thought I was. Who I thought my family was. This wonderful childhood I thought I’d had, even with these awful things that happened. It’s all going away. It was all a lie.”

“Or maybe you’re just shedding your chrysalis and becoming the badass you were always meant to be.”

A watery laugh burst from her. “I’m not a badass. I’m just an accountant.”

“Sweetheart, I know a badass when I see one.” He leaned toward her, and she locked her gaze on his. With his lips a whisper from hers, he said, “And you are not only a damn good accountant, but a badass one to boot.”

Then he claimed her mouth in a slow, searing possession that offered comfort and passion in equal measure. The only connection came from the massage of his lips on hers, the gentle invasion of his tongue, and the way he coaxed her, teased her. The wild tension knotting her relaxed, and her body seemed to turn molten. The kiss lasted forever and not long enough.

When he broke away, she groaned.

“I know,” he whispered. “Me too. But we have to do this. I have to make it safe for you again. I will make it safe for you again.” Cannon’s smile wrapped around her and her heart squeezed. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

She believed him. “I trust you.”

Chapter 5

Hours later…

“Where are we going again?” Pilar hadn’t said much since her revelation about her family. Exhaustion seemed to weigh the air around her.

“Food first, then the safe house.”

When he stopped for gas earlier, and she’d made her way to the restroom, he’d kept watch—and he’d made plans. Fortunately, they were back in a cell service area, as evidenced by the avalanche of texts from his mother.

Yeah, he’d need to deal with that. Later.

Taking only back roads had helped to avoid a lot of traffic cameras. He didn’t know the full extent of the Petrucci organization, so he assigned them a value based on the intel Pilar provided. Planning accordingly, he’d made a few decisions. Tex and Jacko worked logistics and handled the rest. It took most of the day to dip down into the Shenandoah Mountains. He had a safe house there.

First, he took them to one of his favorite diners slash truck stops. It had great food, clean bathrooms, and a gift shop. The latter made Pilar happy as she found a couple of shirts in her sizes and some leggings. When she pulled out a black t-shirt with the diner’s logo on it and handed it to him, he’d just nodded.

“It’s ridiculous, but it feels like the kind of souvenir I want from this road trip.” The animation in her expression and the spark in her dark eyes promised a resumption of her earlier spirit, so Cannon was more than willing to go along.

“Not sure it quite hits the nail on the head. I think it would need to say Highway to Hell on it.” Instead, it read Scorchy’s with three words underneath—broiled, charred, and served.

“I like it.” Not even the bruises could diminish her beauty. She seemed to dare him to deny it.

“Then let’s get two,” he retaliated, enjoying the hell out of her liveliness.

“Let’s,” she fired back and flattened her hand against his chest. “We’ll be twinsies.”

“A matched set.” He stole another kiss. The one in the truck had rocked him to his foundation. He’d ached for her after the story she told. He knew all about disappointing family—he’d been doing it all his life. But in the lost look in her eyes, the little girl she’d been had peeked out at him, bewildered and torn. If time travel were a real thing, he’d have found a way to get back to that kid and extract her before all her illusions could be shattered.

Since he couldn’t, he’d settle for protecting the woman she’d become. The only woman he’d found he didn’t need to seduce to enjoy.

“You have that weird look on your face,” she said as they made one last pass along the odds and ends aisle, because they really had some weird crap on it. Hell, they could go in a damn knick-knack store if it made Pilar relax and smile again.

“Just thinking…I’ve always liked women, but they were always fluid to me. One woman was as good as the next. Good mood. Good looks. Good times.” Weird how alien that felt now. Even the thought of heading to a bar, looking for a woman into SEALs or sailor or just military guys left him cold. They were out there, easy pickings. “You’re not like those women. Not even a little bit.”

Pivoting, she gave him a guarded look. “Thank you?”

“I mean it,” he said, not shying away from the truth. “You’re worth it. You’re worth every moment.” Considering his plans, it probably wasn’t the best moment, but life wasn’t about waiting for the right moment. Never should be. A person had to make their moments and make the time. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and I’ll make sure you’re safe. You know that, right?”

“I do.” Still, the guarded look remained firmly in place. Dammit, he’d gotten all serious and shit and ruined the mood.

“I like you…I like you a lot. I think we are a matched set. I think we fit. You know, like Deadpool and Cable levels of fit.” If she understood that reference, then he’d found his soulmate.

“Maybe more like Wade and Vanessa.”

Man. He was in love. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Just not sure about International Woman’s Day.”

Pilar’s smile burst out from behind the doubtful clouds, and her eyes sparkled. “But you’re not utterly opposed to it.”

True. “We’ll talk.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“I’m asking you for several dates…at least a year of them. We have months until we get to the next one, you know.” He wanted to ask a whole lot more, but he had a plan. The first date was the next step. If he lined up dates two through a hundred, he was okay with that, too.

“We don’t know each other that well,” she said quietly. It didn’t seem to matter that they were standing in a gift shop, in a diner, in the mountains. It was just the two of them. His world narrowed to the woman in front of him. “But I feel like we’ve known each other forever…so, yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“A date?” Just clarifying.

“Yes, a date. You get the answer to date number two after date number one.” She kissed him. “A woman has to set some standards, you know.”

“Yes, she does.” His woman set great standards. Satisfied, he oriented his mind back to business. “Let’s get this and get some food. You remember the rules?”

“Anything happens, I head out back.”

“Just like at the hotel.” He could handle anything, as long as she stayed out of the line of fire.

After they paid for their shirts, they split up at the bathrooms and changed. It was silly, but Cannon loved the way she laughed. How she fit beneath his arm when he slid it around her shoulders. In the diner, he chose a table near the back, and she slid into the booth opposite him. Her side didn’t have the window, and the wall would obscure her position. His back was to the wall and gave him the perfect vantage on egresses as well as a view of the lot.

Enjoying breakfast—particularly when she dug into her waffles, bacon, and eggs like a woman who’d never had a meal—he wasn’t thrilled when the pair of black cars pulled into the lot. Not from around here, and they were too far off the well-traveled path to be just passersby. Locals and those coming to see locals frequented the diner. It was why he’d chosen the place. The bastards could have waited until he finished his steak and eggs. They weren’t flashing guns…wait, the second set of guys exiting the vehicles definitely had the big guns.

Fine. Time to go to work.

“Pilar, go.”

Her eyes went wide, and she glanced to the window but didn’t lean forward.

“Just like we planned.” The angle of her departure would take her right through the swinging door and out of sight.

Her hand closed over his. “Come with me. You don’t have to stay here…not again.”

“I do, and we both know it. Go on, sweetheart. I’ll find you afterward.” It was an oath.

“You’re not Rambo, Ben.” Damn, it was sweet to hear her use his real name. He’d been Cannon so long, he’d half forgotten what it meant to be Ben. He could learn—with her.

“Nope, Rambo is a fictional special forces army guy. I’m Navy true, through and through.”

Shaking her head, she squeezed his hand. “Don’t do anything dumb.”

“Can’t promise that. You’re taking all the brains with you.” But he winked, and she gave him a wobbly smile. It was enough. Steeling his heart, he released her hand. “Now go.”

No way in hell those crazies were going to open fire on the diner. There weren’t a lot of people inside, but it didn’t matter. They’d have to close it for repairs, then Cannon couldn’t come here to eat.

Rising, he left the table and headed for the door.

He was ready for them this time. The waitress had followed Pilar to the back, and the cook nodded to him as he passed. The two guys sitting at the counter shifted position as if tracking his movements.

By the time he stepped outside, there were a dozen men out front, all of them dressed in unrelieved black, from their shirts to their suits. Do they all use the same tailor? Dude must be making a killing.

Keeping his arms loose and at his sides, he identified the leader from the way the man held back. In a group like this, they didn’t stand at the front of the charge. They kept their distance. Real standup type people, course the wise guy appellation was kind of an oxymoron in his book.

Ignoring the Scorchy’s shirt for the moment, he cocked his head to the side. “Fellows, there’s nothing for you here but a lot of hurt and pain. You need to walk away while you still can. I might even be convinced to forget you were even here in the first place.”

Everyone deserved a warning.

The men laughed, and Wise Guy number one pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He blew out a stream of blue smoke. “You’re a funny man, but there’s twelve of me, and one of you.”

Yep. Everyone deserves a warning, but they only get one. “Then take your best shot.” He spread his hands. The adrenaline flooded his system, but he stayed right where he was. He’d made a plan.

Now it was time to execute it.

They were on his turf now.

One of the men standing closest raised his gun. It never made it past a 45-degree angle before the side of his head exploded and he dropped. The two blood-spattered men standing nearest him swore and backed up a step. They raised their guns and earned a one-way ticket to joining their friend.

Wise Guy number one wasn’t pleased. He shouted, and they rushed toward him. Why did these idiots do that? They had guns. Instead of talking about shooting, they should just shoot. ‘Course, he’d been relying on their predictability and the rush to get closer to him. It afforded him time to pull his own weapon. He took two, and the snipers took out three more. The fourth took one through the shoulder.

“Your odds just went three to one,” Cannon said. The guy at his feet started to reach for his weapon, and Cannon tsked. “You’re still breathing. If you want to keep doing that, stop moving.”

The guy spread his fingers and obeyed.

The man at the car had dropped his cigarette. Rage turned his face red, but he didn’t raise his gun. The last two with him had already set theirs down. Maybe they were the real wise guys in the bunch.

“Correction, one on one. I’ll even take you on hand-to-hand if you want to give it a shot.” Now he was just fucking with him, but these bastards came down here armed to teeth to kill Pilar and any civilian who got in their way. He wasn’t feeling a whole lot of sympathy.

“What do you want?” The man gritted it out between his teeth. Humiliation did leave a shitty aftertaste.

“You’re alive for one reason. Go back to your boss and tell him Pilar is off limits. The next guy who comes goes back to him in pieces. Then I’ll be coming for him. He won’t see me coming.”

The guy huffed, but he wasted no time diving into the back of his car. The other two looked at Cannon, and he shook his head. Nope. They could stay right where they were. Wise guy number one had to get out of the back seat and rushed all the way to the driver’s side. Probably a good thing he’d chosen dark pants.

The guy’s tires peeled out as Cannon’s cell phone rang. After motioning to his prisoners to get on their knees, he pulled it out and hit answer. “Go.”

“Nice showboating, smartass,” Tex said with a drawl. “Get your girl and go. My guys have this. We’ll take care of the cleanup.” Tex had called in some favors of his own. Everyone from the cook to the patrons were SEALs or retired. They’d laid the trap, and Pilar’s pursuers walked right into it.

“I owe you,” Cannon told him, holstering his weapon and walking back into the diner.

“You don’t owe me shit, son. Just bring the beer to the next game.”

“Deal.”

They hung up, and Cannon weaved into the back toward the steel-reinforced cold storage area. He opened the door to let Pilar and the waitress know it was all clear. Though they were both wearing coats and drinking hot coffee, Pilar set hers down and flew into his arms.

“What is it with cold on this road trip?” Her question made him laugh. The adrenaline still pumped, as he hadn’t gotten near enough of a fight out of them. But when it came to weighing his need to punish those assholes against keeping Pilar safe, he’d choose her every time.

“We’ll try somewhere south next time,” he promised, then rubbed his chin against her silky as hell hair. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Is it over?”

“Almost.”

They still had one more thing to do.

The scene outside the diner left Pilar queasy. As much as she hated to admit it, the blood and the gore, it was too much. Inside the freezer, she hadn’t been able to hear much. But she could count, and there were a lot of bodies out there. Who the hell was Cannon? Would he ever tell her?

Just a sailor, my ass.

They’d driven to a house he’d deemed secure and been met by friends of his…a lot of friends. Flint and Trudi were the first she’d met. She was wearing Trudi’s boots, and thanked her for them. Flint slugged Cannon in the shoulder but nodded to Pilar politely enough.

Inside, Mickey and Arizona welcomed them. Arizona guided Pilar into the living room with Trudi while the guys headed for the kitchen. She could still see them, but their conversation was low and intense. Probably about what happened. A fourth guy came downstairs. Unlike the others, he was dressed in pajama bottoms and nothing else. The glasses he wore gave him an almost academic air and didn’t go with the wealth of muscle on display.

“Who is that?” Arizona asked as she studied the grouping.

“Jacko,” Trudi replied. “This is his place—or one of them, I think. I’m not clear on who owns what in the business.”

“That’s Jacko?” Arizona whistled. “He’s…”

“Hawt.” Trudi volunteered helpfully, and Pilar had to hide a smile. The woman wasn’t wrong, but he was nowhere near as good looking as Cannon. That said, from a purely academic standpoint, she could admire the man’s physique.

“I heard that,” Flint called from the kitchen.

Trudi grinned unrepentantly. “You were supposed to.”

The hot guy in question gave them a bemused look then shot Flint the middle finger. It was all so very casual. More men came in from outside.

“That’s Angel…not sure about the other guy.” Trudi eyed them speculatively.

“Jammer.” Arizona was the one to point out who he was. “He lost his fiancée a few months ago, in that bombing in New York.”

“Yeah, Angel’s sister,” Trudi sighed. “I heard about that.”

Who were these people? “I’m not sure I should even be here,” Pilar said quietly. “You all seem to know each other well.”

“The Teams do that,” Trudi said. Arizona nodded. “Most of the guys served together or worked together on missions.”

“Teams?”

“Navy SEALs,” Arizona said, grinning. “Didn’t Cannon tell you?”

No, he hadn’t. She looked across the room and locked gazes with him. The haircut, the way he handled himself, even the ease with which he brushed off the danger. “I had no idea… I mean, I know he’s incredible and amazing, but he never said.”

“They don’t talk about it.” Arizona leaned forward. The woman had so much poise and seemed so put together. Trudi had presence. Even in jeans and a ripped shirt, she seemed more fashionable than Pilar in her diner bought shirt, borrowed sweatpants and boots. “It’s just who they are.”

“The guys are close. They like saving people and things, but they are crazy,” Trudi admitted.

“The good kind of crazy,” Arizona amended.

“Oh, they’re definitely the good kind, but it takes a special kind of crazy to do the things they do. They need that level.” Trudi chuckled. “And they’re hot.”

“Woman, you know I can hear you!” Flint yelled again.

Trudi laughed. “Then stop listening to me.”

“Never!”

The warmth radiating from the interaction filled in the air around them. Cannon winked at Pilar, and she grinned. They might not be the couple who yelled across the room at each other… Couple? Are we a couple?

Two days ago, she’d never heard of him. Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Too far? Too fast?

A hundred or so dates.

The butterflies in her stomach had a litter of kittens.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. Being there put all these wonderful people in danger.

“Nope, you’re right where you belong.” Trudi said, and then added, “I don’t usually do this. I’m a journalist, but I have ethics, and you need to draw clear lines. To be perfectly clear, we’re off the record here. I always am, with Flint and the guys. What I see and hear, it stays between us. That said, there is nothing we can’t accomplish. They saved me.”

“She’s right,” Arizona tacked on. “They saved me, too. I was on the run for months. I’d left everything I knew, everything I had, behind. I didn’t think I’d ever get it back. They helped me. I have a different life now, but…I love this life.”

“I have…evidence. Evidence of what my family was doing. I know turning it in is the right thing to do. It’s why they’re after me, and why I met Cannon.” Pilar licked her lips then swallowed. “Before, I was okay with the fact it might take me down.”

“How would it take you down?” Arizona asked, but she had both women’s attention.

“Because I was the accountant. I hid the money. I moved it around. Ignorance isn’t an excuse.” It was eating her up. Going to jail before seemed like a small price to pay, but now she had Cannon. She wanted to see where this thing between them went. How selfish was she?

“Pilar, give me a dollar.” Arizona said.

“What?”

“Give me a dollar,” she repeated and held out her hand.

She had cash in her wallet, but she didn’t have any singles, so she pulled out a five. Bewildered, she passed it over. “Will this do?”

“That’s fine. You just hired me. Trudi, would you excuse us?”

The other woman rose, drink in hand. “You got it. I’ll go bug the boys. And close the door.” She pulled the pocket doors closed, leaving them alone.

Folding the bill in half, Arizona tucked it into her pocket. “As your attorney, nothing you say to me is admissible, nor can I repeat it unless you tell you’re planning to commit a crime or to defraud the court. Okay?”

“Okay.” Great, she had an attorney. “Are you going to represent me? In court?”

“Absolutely, if it comes to that. I don’t think it will, but let’s do this one step at a time. Tell me everything.”

Cradling her coffee cup in her hand, Pilar confessed to it all. She walked her through her life’s story up to the moment she discovered the truth, then about everything since.

Arizona didn’t interrupt, waiting until Pilar finished before asking, “Just to clarify, you copied all of the books onto the flash drive? Not just since you began handling them?”

“Everything we had digitized. I’d been working on that on the side. I needed to be able to access the records easily. The change in tax laws…it’s a whole thing.” Most people got a glazed over look when she dove too deep into the financial hows and whys.

“You issued payments to some of the accounts you’ve identified as those that handled what you now believe to be criminal activity?”

“Yes.” The nice phrasing didn’t remove her culpability. “I was blind, maybe intentionally so.”

Arizona the lawyer didn’t let up. “Maybe? You’re not sure?”

“They were my family,” Pilar said, spreading her hands. “They were good to me, and…there for me when my world upended. I never dreamed they could be involved in this stuff but looking back…it gives new context to some of what I saw and heard.”

“Okay, you believe that because you handled the books and issued the payments, you are guilty by association? After the fact? What are you thinking?”

“I’m not a lawyer,” Pilar admitted.

“No, that’s my job. What is it you think you did?”

“I think I was blind and stupid. I had an FBI agent try to tell me the truth, and I ignored him.” Wasn’t that obvious? “Then I went to work for my family.”

“Okay, let’s accept all that at face value. You had the means to commit the crimes you’re alleging, and you wrote the checks. You issued the payments. You kept good documentation of all of this, right?”

Heart sinking, Pilar nodded. “Right.”

“You could ascribe your motive as being to protect your family. It’s why you didn’t believe the FBI agent, and why you went to work for them. Why you let your grandfather guide your career choices and pay for your college, right?”

“Yes.” See, she’d done it.

“So means and motive, and you could build a case for that. A flimsy case maybe, but all right. We’ll say you’ve established those two items. What was your intent?”

Confusion blurred through the worry. “What?”

“Your intent? To prove a criminal act, you need means, motive, and intent. You established you have the first two, but what was your intent? Did you intend for the money to be spent on facilitating criminal actions? Did you intend to get people killed? To aid in smuggling? To hide earnings from the IRS?”

“No.” Pilar set her coffee cup aside before sitting straighter. “My intent was to do a good job, to be able to keep accurate books. I didn’t know that was where the money was going.”

“When you did know…when you became aware of the criminal element in what you were involved in doing, what action did you take?”

“I copied the files and decided to take them to the Justice Department.” The guilt eating her soul dissipated.

“Exactly.” Arizona smiled. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner. You had no intent. You acted with responsibility and awareness.”

“So I’m not guilty.”

“Legally? No. The rest is up to you. I’m not a psychologist, but I would say you have issues. I know I did and still do sometimes. You don’t go through hell and not come out the other side a little damaged. Some of us have our scars on the inside. Like Cannon…and I’m going to say just like you. For what it’s worth, I admire the hell out of you. I went against my law firm, but you are taking on your whole family. I’d have understood if you buried it and your head in the sand. We do that for family. You didn’t. You stood up, and you’re trying to do the right thing.” Arizona caught her hand and Pilar couldn’t believe it, but she did feel better.

“Thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, if you want to stay on course and take it the Justice Department, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

It meant a lot. “If I don’t?”

“Then I’m still with you. I’m your attorney. I will work toward your best interests, whatever you decide them to be. As your friend, only you can answer what you need.”

After they filled the guys in on everything, there were a lot of ideas thrown out, but Cannon held up his hand, silencing them. Focused on Pilar, he said, “Do what you believe is right. We’ll back your play. No matter what it is.”

Her heart had never been as full as it was when each person in that room nodded their agreement. They were great, but it was Cannon who filled her with amazement. He hadn’t wavered, not an inch, even when she had a gun in his face. He’d been there for her.

Turning the tape cassette USB drive over in her hand, she didn’t have to think on it. “Arizona, I want to turn this into the Justice Department, and I’m willing to make a statement.”

Her attorney grinned as she took it. “We’ll get it to the right people. I’ll make sure there’s a deal in place for you, just so you can cross the t’s and dot all the i’s.”

Relief left her limp. When Cannon reached for her, she went into his arms and leaned against him. “Can we go somewhere? Without guns? Or people trying to kill us?”

“Of course.”

Chapter 6

Cannon didn’t have to take her far. The safe house he’d planned to use was a couple of miles from Jacko’s retreat and part of the reason he’d chosen the area. Once at the little house, he led Pilar inside. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s food in the kitchen and beds upstairs. TV. Whatever you need.”

From beginning to end, she’d been amazing and stood up to every challenge. Even the shootouts. Not many people could do that. She hadn’t fought him when he wanted her out of the firing line. Following a plan meant something. She let him focus on his job.

Amazing didn’t begin to cover it.

She turned in a slow circle, looking all kinds of adorable in her diner shirt and his sweatpants. Man, she did awesome things for his clothes. Maybe they could make that their thing. She set her purse down on the table and looked at him. “What are you going to do?”

“Take a shower,” he said. He needed one. “Maybe shave.” Then spend the rest of the week with her. A week sounded like a good first date, right?

“Mind if I join you?”

The question caught him off guard. “To shave?” He didn’t mind the idea of company, but was watching guys shave a thing? How did he not know that?

Pilar chuckled. “To shower, sailor boy.”

“Sailor man,” he corrected, then the first part of the sentence penetrated. “Oh.” Fuck, did he encourage her? Because hell yes he wanted her to shower with him, but was that going to fast? Didn’t she deserve at least three to six dates before he put the moves on her?

“I don’t have to,” she said, spreading her hands. “I just thought…”

“No, no, no. You thought right. I just—I want do this right. I want to do everything right with you. No fuckups. No misunderstandings. No…assuming.” Every bad relationship he could recall the guys going through or soured on the first time around had something to do with shitty decisions on their parts. Not him. No sir. No way. No how. “Flint…Flint had a dumb a few years ago. He dumped Trudi because he didn’t want her waiting for him. Stupidest decision ever. She’s great for him. He was fucking miserable without her. I don’t want to do that with you.”

The more he talked, the deeper the hole he felt like he was digging. Sometimes, shutting up was the better plan. He went with it.

“First, you’re not all the other guys.” Pilar lifted one finger, then added another. “Second, you didn’t assume anything, I asked. Third, no is all right for you to say. I’m feeling needy, and I want to be close, but we don’t have to have sex. We don’t have to even shower together. Maybe we can take a nap… I just know I want to be where you are.”

“You’re serious?” Her response kind of stunned him.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? Men can say no. Sex might be too soon, and…you may not even want to have sex with me.”

“Oh, I want to have sex with you.” Get that idea out of her mind right now. “But it’s been a hell of a two days. A brutal two days, one might say, and you’re still reeling. I don’t want you to regret leaping into bed with me.” Not even for an instant. Crossing the distance between them, he slid an arm around her and pulled her to him. When she’d done that at Jacko’s, just folded into his arms, it had been the most natural thing in the world. It was the same now. “I’m in, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere, whether you have sex with me today, tomorrow, next week or next month.”

“Next year?” The playful light in her eyes filled him with mirth.

“Would be a brutal wait, but I’d do it.” The moment he said the words, he tasted their truth. Pilar was it for him. She was the one he hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting to meet.

“You’re…you’re the best man I’ve ever known.” The declaration actually took him out at the knees. The fervor in her voice coupled with the fire in her eyes. “I know, intellectually, this seems too soon to feel this strongly about anyone. But I’m in, too. You’ve seen me at my worst.”

“Bah,” he scoffed then pressed a kiss to her brow. “Every day is your best, and it only gets better.”

“You’re a charmer. A dangerous charmer, who smiles when things are at their worst.”

“What can I say? Sometimes life goes boom. You can smile, or you can cry.” The press of her against him, the weight of her in his arms—it was definitely something to smile about.

“Go take your shower. I’ll…”

“Come with me,” he said. “No…hanky panky.” When she raised an eyebrow, he said, “Okay, maybe a lot of groping against the tile wall, and heavy petting, but we can stop at any time.” Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs.

“Do we need rules?” She saved that question for when they reached the bedroom. The place was plainly furnished, not a lot of amenities, but it had what he needed right now.

It had her.

“What kind of rules?” He headed into the bathroom, still holding her hand. Once in, he let her go and got the water started. Turning, he stripped off his shirt and then met her gaze. “Like sex rules? Life rules? Who gets to be under the hot water rules? Sweetheart, Monopoly has rules, so we kind of need to establish what kind of rules.”

Laughter bubbled out of her, and she pushed that glorious dark hair away from her face. “I was thinking shower rules, but…we can make them up as we go along.” She mirrored his earlier action and stripped off her shirt. The pale, lacy bra beneath cupped her breasts beautifully. Damn, the woman had curves for days.

“So, pants at the same time?” Was that a little too eager?

Her grin seemed to say no. Good. “How about shoes first?”

“Oh, yeah—those.” He toed off his boots, and she perched on the edge of the closed toilet to tug off hers. “What next?”

“Well, the bra should go, if we’re being fair. It’s not like you’re wearing one.”

No, ma’am. No, he was not. His tongue rooted to the top of his mouth as she unclipped the bra and slid out of it. The fullness of those breasts, the tone of her beautiful arms, and the deep warm golden tan of her skin told him three things: he was never gonna last when he finally got to touch her, she exercised regularly, and this woman had to tan topless.

Yes, the universe loved him.

When she stood, he eased back a half step to give her room. The whole looking and not touching thing was really working—to drive him crazier for her than he already was.

“Pants?” It came out strangled, but she grinned.

“How about I do yours, and then you do mine?” The invitation ignited all kinds of dirty thoughts.

“Anything you want,” he promised her, and he meant it.

When her fingers touched his belt, he made himself go still and stay there. Discipline. Fortitude. Stamina. He had all of those in spades, and then her mouth closed over his cock and it took everything he had to not move. It was just a whisper of touch, a glide of velvet against him, a swirl of tongue. Already stiff, his cock went harder. Then she released him and pressed a kiss to his thigh before looking up at him.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

“Nope…” Still strangled, he got the words out. “Here’s a rule, I don’t mind anything you want to do to my body. But the first time I come with you, I don’t want it to be in your mouth.” It sounded kind of noble, but it wasn’t. He loved head, what guy didn’t? But he wanted to look in her eyes and all that other romantic shit. He wanted to feel her come with him and to hold him deep in her body.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What?” He hadn’t asked a question.

“Yes, I want to feel you deep in my body, too.”

Okay, so he said that out loud, apparently. Roll with it. “Birth control?”

“Implant.” She gestured to her arm. “Clean?”

“Regular physicals, never have unprotected sex.” Ever. Until…

“Haven’t had sex in a year, physical three months ago.” The admission shocked him. Were the men around her stupid? Oh wait…he remembered her family and where she’d worked. The men around her were really stupid. Heart pounding loud enough to work the drum corps, he reached a hand to her, and she let him pull her to her feet.

Dragging her close, he reveled in the feel of her nipples stiffening against his chest and the silk of her hair gliding over his arm. “Bareback is a leap, especially for two people debating whether we should have sex this fast.”

“Maybe,” she said, sliding her arms around him. The rub of her sweatpants against his cock wasn’t the feeling he wanted. “But I don’t want anything between us. Call me crazy, but you have an out. Let’s make that a rule.”

“Specify.” The command came out on a growl. His restraint held though. No matter how much his body demanded it, they wouldn’t move until they had the go order from her.

“We have all the sex we want. We go nuts for each other. We feed the adrenaline-fueled desire we’re both riding on… And, if it doesn’t work out between us, no harm, no foul. You can walk away, and I’ll be okay.”

Fuck. That.

“I don’t think I would be.” He tilted his head. “I said I’m in. I meant it.”

“But…”

“No buts. You want out, okay. I have your back, always. I’ll make it happen for you, but me? I’m here. 110 percent. You have me.”

She searched his eyes and whatever she found must have satisfied her, because she pressed her lips to his. The hard, fast, and almost chaste kiss carried the promise of so much more. “Then let’s just be nuts.”

“Together?” They needed confirmation of the order.

“Yes.” She told him. “Together…now…the floor, the shower…”

“The bed.” He switched off the water, then picked her up. Her laughter wreathed him and, no matter how urgent his need, he settled her on the bed gently. They’d been beat up enough. Lowering down to cover her, he claimed her mouth in a kiss. The stroke of her tongue on his, the welcoming softness as she pulled him to her, and the way she wrapped a leg around him—heaven.

He only broke the kiss to say, “The pants gotta go.” He slid away and tugged them off her. Straightening, he stared at the beautiful body he’d uncovered. Curved hips, full breasts, and soft tummy. Everything about her was soft. Soft, and gorgeous, and when she held her hand out to him, he went.

There were no more words, just kissing and touching. Their frenetic need quieted while he explored, only to ramp as he lingered on one of her breasts then the other. When he eased a finger into her, she was hot, slick, and perfect. Her cries met every single one of his touches, and she massaged his balls, scraped her nails over his ass, and then dug them into his shoulders. Time for play ended when he thrust into her.

They both exhaled. Her gaze locked on his as they found the rhythm that worked for them both. He wouldn’t last, he knew it, but he fought to wring out every single ounce of pleasure he could for her. When he found a particularly sensitive spot, he angled his thrusts to hit it. The glaze of her eyes and the sudden fist of her inner muscles around his cock warned him. He tumbled over the edge, riding the wave of her orgasm as he buried himself inside her over and over until his own pleasure ripped out of him.

Afterward, he collapsed against her then rolled over to keep her in his arms. It was truly a perfect moment—the cloud of her hair draped them, she still held his softening cock inside, and her breasts against his chest.

“Please, ma’am, run into me any time.”

They managed a few hours together, just the two of them, and eventually even took that shower. When Flint called to say Mickey and Arizona were on their way back, Cannon groaned. He didn’t want to share her with the guys just yet, but they still had things to do.

After finding something for Pilar to wear in the clothes Trudi and Arizona sent with them, he got dressed and they headed out. He started the truck from the door, and the engine made three clicking noises.

Grabbing Pilar, he pushed her down before the truck exploded. A hot wave washed over them, and debris showered onto the lawn and the street. Thankfully, they were the only house this far down.

Lifting his head, he stared at the vehicle and his jaw set.

His new truck.

Just gone.

If not for the remote starter, it might have been him and Pilar in the truck. Or just Pilar.

Her grandfather hadn’t gotten the message.

“Cannon?” The softness in her voice pulled him back from the dark edge where he was plotting an assassination.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Let me do this my way. You got me here, and you have my back. I’ll get him for us both.”

He’d promised her anything, but she was asking for a lot. “If he touches you…”

“You introduced me to people who can help, and I want to do this. I want to do it for us. For tomorrow. And the next day…and for International Women’s Day next year.”

The last did it. He laughed and the need to kill and destroy eased. It didn’t go away, and it wouldn’t until they didn’t threaten her ever again, but it did ease. “Deal.”

One month later

Leaving the courthouse, Pilar felt like a new woman. Her right arm threaded through Cannon’s left, and she laughed. She was even used to the fact he never let her walk on his right and always moved her. He had to have his gun hand free. Understanding coupled with four weeks together where they learned more and more about each other. He’d even told her about his family and the business he was starting.

No barriers, he promised, and he told her everything except those pieces covered by national security. Pilar did the same, and when it came for her to testify to a grand jury, she did. Arizona secured an immunity deal, and they’d turned everything over to the Justice Department and the FBI. The Petrucci family organization would be dismantled.

“It’s still going to take time,” Cannon complained. They’d made arrangements, and his guys were everywhere. The police even had snipers in positions, too, on the off chance someone came for her again. All Cannon’s doing, and he’d been the one to tell the U.S. Attorney she wouldn’t testify without it.

“Yes, but there are multiple counts of racketeering, extortion, and money laundering. In the meanwhile, the IRS froze all their accounts.” That little gem had been what she did the day they blew up his truck. It was one thing to come after her, but she wouldn’t let them endanger Cannon anymore. The IRS was very interested in all the hidden accounts from the days before she was the accountant. They’d tucked a lot of it away to avoid taxes.

Numbers didn’t lie.

“That really was a genius touch on your part,” Cannon said, squeezing her hip. “I wish I could have been there when the agents showed up at your grandfather’s and locked him out of his house.”

Cannon had pointed it out to her; her grandfather’s resources and holdings gave him a large pool to play in. She just drained the pool. No resources. No more hits. Even his attorneys would be jumping ship.

“I liked it.”

“Are we putting a period on that chapter, then?” Off the steps, they headed for a waiting SUV. Mickey had driven them in, and the guys were taking the destruction of Cannon’s truck seriously.

“Yes,” she said, and it felt right. They were definitely done with this part. Sure, there would be more testimony and stuff, but the hard part was over. The evidence was out of her hands, and they had a record of everything that happened. Pilar Petrucci was done.

Pilar Napolitano could really get on with her life—with Cannon.

“Fantastic. I have a job I want to offer you.” He opened the back door of the SUV and helped her inside.

“Hi, Mickey,” she said to the retired SEAL in the front seat. “Arizona said she might be a while.”

“I know, all good. I’ll be back to get her, and the guys will stick close to her, too.”

When Cannon slid in on the other side, she leaned closer to him and murmured, “Job?”

“I told you about the business I’m building, the security firm with the guys. The type of jobs we’ll be taking. One of the things holding us up is setting up in all regions and funneling the money where we need it to go. I do most of that, but I also need to scout things. If you come on board as our accountant, I can focus on my part, and you can keep the books.”

She’d love to, except… “Are you planning to keep me in the dark if it’s a mission you don’t think I’ll like or approve of?”

“Never,” he told her fiercely. “You’re one of us now. Numbers, you get a vote—just like Arizona and Trudi. Just like the guys. We do this together, or we don’t do it at all.” He really was perfect.

“Then I accept. Also, I have a present for you.” She’d been waiting for the right moment and this seemed like the one. Tugging the hood ornament from her purse, she held it out to him.

He stared at it. It was the one piece without a scratch, a dent or a ding. It even held its shine after being thrown fifty feet from the explosion.

“I know, babe,” she said, stroking his arm. “It was a new truck.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, releasing a long-suffering sigh. “But I came out better on this deal than I did going in. I got you.”

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

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Always a Marine Series

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