Читать книгу The Men In Uniform Collection - Barbara McMahon - Страница 28

BOONE WATCHED HER EYES close, felt her breath as she leaned forward. His gut tightened as he moved in to kiss her, but the sound of a heavy weight just across the gym startled him into backing away.

He coughed, trying to cover his embarrassment, then turned toward Milo, who was staring at him accusingly. “Let’s go. We need to grab something to eat before we go to the range.”

Behind him, he heard Christie shift on the mat. She didn’t say anything and he hoped she wasn’t planning ways to use her new training to kick him in the nuts. She had every right. Dammit, he was the one in charge of this operation, and he’d clearly given her the wrong signals, which was not only stupid but dangerous.

He turned around to find her standing near the door, her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders slumped. All the confidence she’d had just moments ago had vanished because he was a screwup of the first order.

“What do you want for lunch?” he asked.

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can find a diner that serves Lucky Charms.”

Not a smile, not even a glance. Shit.

“Okay then, I’ll take you to a place I like. It’s not fancy, but it’s on the way.”

Christie shrugged. Then she called the dog, and when Milo approached she crouched down to give him a hug.

The woman was terrified out of her mind. She had exactly one person to turn to. “Come on. Let’s hit it. I want to get in a couple of hours at the shooting range.”

As she led Milo out of the gym, Boone kept a respectful distance behind her. He could tell she was sore. Her movements were stiff, her posture rigid. She’d need a long soak tonight, and an early bedtime.

He would stand guard, and he wouldn’t think of anything but the job.

SHE STOOD WITH BOTH FEET flat on the floor, shoulder width apart. The headphones played no music, just blocked out sound, and the goggles hurt the backs of her ears. She stared at the target, the familiar silhouette they show in all the movies, and she imagined that it was the bastard, standing right there.

Boone had told her a gazillion things to focus on, some of them out-and-out contradictory, but she wasn’t thinking of any of them. She lifted her Glock 39 with both hands, pointing it straight at the bastard’s head. Between the eyes. As she squeezed the trigger, she visualized the bullet screaming from the barrel, speeding toward the sweet spot. There was still the shock of the recoil, but she’d shot the gun before, so it wasn’t so bad.

She lowered her arms and whipped off the goggles and earmuffs, desperate to see the target.

“Looks good, but you shouldn’t take off the goggles.”

“I’m not going to be wearing goggles if he breaks into the house.”

“True, but when you’re here, it’s important to observe all protocols.”

She turned. He was still standing about a foot behind her, slightly to the right. Maybe if she looked as good as he did in goggles, she’d wear them, but that wasn’t the point. “I want to see.”

He nodded, went to the side of her booth and pressed the button. Just like on TV, the silhouette man shivered as it rumbled toward her. Halfway there, she saw she’d missed the target. Completely. She sagged with disappointment. She’d been so sure.

“That’s great, Christie. Good shooting.”

“I didn’t even hit the target.”

“That’s okay. Your stance was good, you were calm and you’re getting better about not jerking the gun so much.”

She leaned against the side of the booth, her muscles aching from calf to neck. “I can’t do this, Boone. Can’t we just go home?”

He shook his head and waved her into position again. His hands went to her shoulders and he leaned in, his voice low, inches from her ear. “The key in defensive shooting isn’t to see how accurately you can fire a handgun, but how quickly you can fire it accurately. You need to believe you’re going to hit what you aim at, every time, no exceptions. You need to be comfortable. Remember, you’re going for a smooth trigger pull. Smooth and easy, nothing jerky. Be conscious of your breathing. Hold your breath, but only when you start to squeeze the trigger.”

He went on, his voice even, steady, and as smooth as the breath on her neck. His hands moved down her arms, lifting them into position. She tried to listen to his advice, but she was too aware of his body pressing against hers from her shoulders to her bottom. If he hadn’t shown her so very clearly that he wasn’t going to go for the sex, she’d be moving back, shifting ever so slightly, just enough to get a rise out of him. Instead, she concentrated on the lesson, not the man. She just wished he smelled bad, and that his voice would stop swirling in her head.

“The only thing you should be moving is your trigger finger,” he said. “Use the tip of your finger, the most sensitive spot, so you feel what you’re doing. I want you to dry-fire as often as you can, get used to the feel of the weapon, make the action comfortable and easy. I want you to be so used to pulling that trigger that you don’t even have to think about it.”

“And just how long will that take?”

“Not long. We’ll be back here tomorrow, and the next day, if we need to be.”

“You said dry-fire.”

“That’s pulling the trigger,” he said, his breath shifting just a bit so it hit her neck in a new way, “without a live round in the chamber.”

“Ah. Kind of like foreplay.”

He shifted back, but she moved with him. Immediately embarrassed, she pushed her hips forward, only this time, his body followed. She decided that it wasn’t sexual; he was just helping her with her aim.

He cleared his throat and his grip tightened on her wrists. “Go ahead, take another shot. No headgear this time. I want you to hear the noise. Make it part of the experience.”

Christie smiled. “Uh, Boone?”

Again, he cleared his throat. She didn’t think it was that dry in here. “Yeah?”

“It would probably work better if the target was back in place.”

His forehead hit the back of her head, a light tap, but he didn’t say anything. He just let her go, went over to the side and pressed the button. The silhouette man shivered as he traveled, but once he was in place he stilled, and she wondered how she was going to convince the bastard to stand perfectly still while she remembered to breathe and squeeze her perfect shot.

Boone didn’t resume his position, preferring instead to stand with his arms crossed, leaning against the partition. He watched her though, so intently the crease above his nose seemed like a dark stain.

She tried to forget about him, to incorporate all the things he’d told her about firing the gun, but it was like trying to ignore an elephant in the room. She could still feel the tickle of his breath, hear his solemn words in his dark monotone. She decided not to fight it. To let him guide her, even though he wasn’t actually holding her arms.

The stance, the grip, the sight, the breath, the squeeze, and then the crack, so unlike the sounds of guns on TV, and the recoil, jolting her hands back and high.

She waited impatiently for the target to come close, and her heart did a little flip when she saw that she’d actually hit the target. Not close to the head, in fact, not even on the body itself, but there was a hole in the paper, and that seemed like an enormous victory.

“Well done,” Boone said. “Good job.”

She kept her cool, even though she wanted to do a little happy dance. Boone was being all business, or what she imagined all business would be for an army guy. His nod was accompanied by a frown, which she figured was Delta Force for “You go, girl.”

“Let’s do one more.”

She nodded, wanting to keep going until she hit the body. More than the workout this afternoon, hitting the target gave her a sense of power she hadn’t felt since the bastard first called. She might not be able to beat him up, but a bullet would definitely stop him.

The target took its sweet time getting back to square one, and she let Boone take her through the process as he once again watched from the sidelines.

This time, the recoil didn’t seem so hard. The pull of the trigger was sweeter. But she still hadn’t gotten the bullet closer to the body.

Boone took his goggles off and put them on the counter along with his headgear. He walked to her, the frown still in place, only he didn’t stop a polite distance away, but got right into her face. He took the weapon from her hand, released the magazine and checked it twice to make sure it was empty, then he gave it back to her. Once she had the proper grip, he put his hand over hers and pulled the gun toward him, so the end of the barrel was right against his stomach.

“Listen up,” he said, his warm breath now fanning her lips. “If he comes and it’s just you and him, forget everything you just learned. You don’t aim, you don’t go for balance, you don’t breathe deep and hold it. You push the gun into his body.” He pulled her hand, forcing the barrel deeper into his stomach. “You make contact, it doesn’t matter where. Just push the gun into his body and then you pull the trigger. No finesse, no tricks. You bring him down. You don’t think about it. You do it fast, you do it hard. You got that?”

She swallowed, her chest tight and hurting with the reality of what he was telling her. She might have to face a living human being and shoot him in the gut. It was something she’d never considered, not once in her life. That she would have that kind of power. That she could take that final step. But looking into Boone’s steady gaze, his pupils large and dark, she knew there was no room to squirm, no room at all. If it was her versus the bastard, she had to shoot, and shoot fast.

“You got that?” he repeated.

“I got it.”

He stepped back. “Let’s go home.”

THE RIDE HOME WAS MOSTLY silent. Boone kept a watch on the mirrors, making sure no one was tailing them, but he also kept checking with Christie. He’d done what he’d intended, hit her hard with the facts.

He’d been in the military since he joined up at twenty-four, and in the ROTC before that. His father had been a career soldier, as had his grandfather. Boone had grown up with guns, with the idea of using weapons, and he could still remember the first time he understood that he would, at some point, have to kill someone. It had hit him hard, just like it had hit Christie. Only for her, the threat was imminent.

He thought about sending her away to somewhere safer, but if she left, the geek would know and he wouldn’t come out. She still wouldn’t have her life back. It would mean she would be on the run for who knows how long, and he knew from experience that that kind of life sucked. Stalkers were notorious for never giving up, and this stalker, with his first-class gadgets, was no fool. The only real solution was to get him to show himself, and for Boone to take care of him once and for all.

All Boone had to do was make sure it was the geek that lost, not Christie.

Funny, though, that she’d never asked him about leaving.

“What?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You grunted,” she said. “At least I thought it was a grunt. If you burped, then I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

He looked at her, at her haunted eyes. Good for her that she could keep her sense of humor. “Why haven’t you asked me to help you disappear?”

She blinked a couple of times, her pretty lips parting just a bit. “Because you’re going to catch him. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, his gaze back on the road in front of him. “We’re going to.”

“Don’t count on me, Kemo Sabe. Despite the excellence of your tutoring, don’t forget that I passed out. I’m an interior decorator. We’re not known for our guerilla tactics and fighting acumen.”

“You’re stronger than you think. Knowing what to do is going to help. A lot.”

“You catching the bastard is going to help more.”

“Fair enough.” He made a couple of turns he didn’t need to, just as a precaution. It was no secret they were going to her place, but he didn’t want any surprises. Christie was silent, but he didn’t think that would last.

“Hey,” she said, softly.

He turned to her, and she was staring at her hands in her lap. “What’s wrong?”

“All this training, and eating right. Just how long do you think it’s going to take to get this guy?”

“I don’t know. We could get him tonight.”

“But that’s not what you expect, right?”

“There’s no way for me to know. I believe the best approach is to make him jealous. To make him feel out of control, as if he’s going to lose you. To me. We need to make him reckless. Our only hope is to get him so riled that he’ll have to make an overt move. His goal so far has been intimidation and fear. We want him to get so furious he’d come into the house, into our territory.”

“For the record, this scares the crap out of me.”

“Just remember that once he steps into the house, we’re in control. He doesn’t stand a chance, okay? That’s why we’re getting you into fighting shape. We can’t predict where or when he’ll enter, but we can be one hundred percent ready for him. Both of us.”

“So you’re not going anywhere, right? You don’t have a doctor’s appointment you can’t miss or a date or anything?”

“No. Until we catch this guy, I’m with you. That’s all.”

She nodded, then leaned back, resting on the headrest. He wanted to touch her, give her some reassurance, but he didn’t. Touching her had a funny way of distracting him. Even looking at her had its dangers.

As they turned the last corner, Boone slowed the truck down, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The street, typically suburban, mostly one- and two-story houses, with one apartment building on the corner, looked quiet. A lawn was being watered, and he could see the flicker of televisions through drawn blinds. The cars lining the street were ones he’d catalogued before, except for three on this side of Christie’s house. He drove past it and saw two other newcomers.

One of them could belong to the geek. With a parabolic mike, he could be waiting to hear them as they walked to the front door. Boone decided to act as if that were the case. He sighed, then turned to drive around the block. “Christie.”

“Yeah?”

“Just a reminder,” he said, his gaze moving rapidly from the road to the assorted vehicles on either side of the street, “he might be listening.”

She stiffened in her seat, and looked at him with wide eyes. “Now?” she whispered.

“No. But when we walk into the house. So we have to…”

“Act like we’re lovers.”

“That’s right. And I want you to say something about us making it legal.”

“As in getting married?”

He nodded.

After a deep breath, she asked, “What else?”

“That’s it. Only, don’t stop pouring it on when we get inside. I want to make sure.”

“Of?”

“I want to sweep the house. For all we know, he’s been there.”

He could see her start to tremble. Even after she clasped her hands together. There were too many shadows to say whether she’d lost her color, but he’d bet on it. “Get your gun out of the glove compartment,” he said, keeping his tone even and soft.

She did, and held it in her shaking grip.

“Load her up. Triple-check the safety, then put it in your waistband, with your T-shirt over it. Make sure you can get to it quickly.”

She bent to the task as he slowed the car even further. He didn’t want to turn onto her block before she was ready, physically and mentally.

He hoped, for both their sakes, that the geek would take the bait tonight. That he’d be so crazy with the turn of events that he’d let his emotions get the better of him. The angrier he was, the quicker things would end.

“Okay,” she said.

He glanced over and caught her T-shirt slipping down over her jeans. He averted his gaze even though he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of skin.

“There,” she said, pointing to a parking spot three houses from hers. Milo recognized home, and he got up in the back, whining to get out.

Boone parked and walked around to her side of the car to hold the door open. When she stepped out, he took her hand, and they walked together to the back to open the hatch for the dog.

Milo was quite excited and made a beeline for the front yard. Boone slipped his arm around Christie’s shoulder. Her trembling was even more pronounced, although she acted the lover with conviction.

As they got closer, she put her head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait to tell my mother we’re engaged,” she said, her voice giving nothing away. “She’ll flip out.”

“I look forward to meeting her. I’ll call the airline tonight and make our reservations. And then you won’t ever have to think of that creep again. Jesus, what a pervert. Clearly he can’t get it up. If he could, he’d go after someone who wanted him.”

“He’s probably got one of those pencil dicks,” she said. “Has to jack off with tweezers and a magnifying glass.”

Boone laughed, and bent his head to kiss her. It was meant to be light, a show for the camera, if not for the microphone. But Christie…

She kissed him back. Again. Her hand went to his neck, pressing him tight, holding him as she thrust her tongue past his lips with a desperation that made him forget the microphone, the job.

She moved, pushing her body into his so that he felt the gun between them. Which meant that she would feel his erection. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t will it down. The way she kissed him after all that touching had him as hard as the barrel.

Finally, she pulled back, but not away. She looked at him in the dark for a long while, their breaths mingling, her lips still moist. “I don’t give a shit about that pervert,” she whispered. “I just want you. Only you.”

It wasn’t until she stepped back, until she called for Milo, that he remembered the words meant nothing.

THEY WALKED INTO THE HOUSE and Christie immediately went to the kitchen. Boone was still shaken from the scene on the walkway, and as he watched her feed Milo, all he could think was, what the hell?

From her career, her looks, the way her house was so put together, he’d expected her to be…different. In fact, Nate had told him that she was high-maintenance, and that she had such high standards he wondered if she’d ever meet a man who would qualify. And yet he was absolutely sure she was coming on to him.

She put away the dog food, filled Milo’s water bowl, then turned to Boone. “I’m going to take a bath,” she said. “Care to join me?” Her voice was calm and collected, but she avoided his gaze.

Was she serious? Nah, couldn’t be. Was she just reacting to the fact that the geek might be listening?

Giving him a wide berth, she left the kitchen for the bath. All he could do was shake his head as he got his duffel. He had a few changes of clothes in there, along with his kit. A shower sounded like one hell of a great idea, but first he wanted to sweep the house, make sure no one had been inside.

He’d think about the kiss later, when they were safely settled down for the night. When they were in separate rooms. Maybe it was his problem, not hers. It had been too long, that’s all. Too long since he’d been this close to someone like Christie.

SHE GOT TO HER BEDROOM DOOR and fought the urge to look back at Boone. She’d embarrassed herself enough with him for one day. She wanted him with a hunger that was foreign to her, that made her feel like a first-class slut. Ironic that for most of her adult life, she’d been considered pretty cold. She wasn’t, of course. Just picky.

She went straight to the closet and turned the dimmer light on because, frankly, she didn’t want to see herself in the mirror in the corner. She just stripped off the workout clothes and pulled on her bathrobe. Never so grateful for her incredible Whirlpool bathtub, she couldn’t wait to get in and soak for a week or two. Anything that would make her feel like herself again. Did she even remember what that was like?

She sighed as she went to her big dresser. She got out her old pair of flannel pajamas, the ones with little cowgirls on them. They’d been a gift from her best girlfriend, Stacey, who lived, unfortunately, in Colorado. Four years ago, they’d had a slumber party, and while Christie had provided the munchies and the chick flicks, Stacey had brought matching pj’s. It had been such a great night.

Christie thought about her old friend a lot, especially lately. A year ago, she’d have turned to Stacey for help, but her friend had enough on her plate. She’d married the love of her life, and they’d had a child. But the baby, a sweet little girl, was born with spina bifida. Stacey knew nothing about the stalker, nothing about the deterioration of Christie’s life, and that’s how it would remain. The pajamas weren’t the perfect substitute for the sympathetic shoulder of a best buddy, but they’d have to do.

She slipped on her fluffy slippers, and went into the bedroom, stopping right by the bed to see if she could hear Boone. He wasn’t in the shower, because she would have heard the plumbing. No, he was still going over the house for bugs. He’d probably wait until she was in the bath to do this room, which meant there was no way she was turning on the light.

She shivered as she thought about the bastard watching her, and immediately tried to think of something else. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the bedside-table drawer. Shoving her vibrator to the very back, she pulled out one of her favorite books, something she’d read at least a dozen times, but Pride and Prejudice always made her feel good.

She held the book in her hand, thankful for small delights. A bath, Jane Austen, scented candles and a good night’s sleep. And no thinking about Boone. Not even for a second.

Yeah, right. Clearly, she’d lost her mind, which was understandable, considering. She’d never attacked a man before, never been so brazen, so nuts. Maybe if she got a few more good nights of sleep, he wouldn’t seem so attractive.

She should get up now. Go pour her bath. Maybe she’d put that lilac-scented oil in the water, along with the Epsom salts. Thinking of the bubbles that would swirl in the tub, she stood, ready to be immersed in heat, when she brushed the back of her robe over her butt. Her hand came away damp, which was weird because Milo hadn’t had an accident in a really long time, and only once on her bed when he was a puppy. She looked at her palm, but it was too dark to see. Her gaze moved to the bed. Something was wrong. Off.

She stepped back and reached over to the bedside lamp. The light spilled over the bedspread, which was stained a deep, dark, bloodred.