Читать книгу Call Sign Karma - Jamie Rae - Страница 8

If only I could drown the pain. I grabbed the last bottle from the cooler and hopped the deck rail into the sand. The grains were warm, baked under the hot July sun all day and retaining the heat well past sunset. I wiggled my toes, cracked open the bottle and tossed the lid over my shoulder onto the deck.

I loved this beach almost as much as I hated it. My parents bought this house when my dad was stationed here and kept it as a vacation home when he retired from the military. My mom insisted I stay here during my training, but being here just trudged up memories of Colin and me watching the jets fly over the beach. We dreamed of the day that we’d be in the cockpit flying side-by-side. And now, like him, those dreams were buried.

My chest tightened and I stifled a short breath. I wasn’t ready for tomorrow. I was going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than the honey lagers that were going down like sweet tea. Taking a drink, I strolled toward the ocean’s edge and stepped into the water. The coolness washed over my ankles and the current tugged at my feet. Everything in my life seemed to be pulling me in a direction I didn’t want to go.

I wanted to be a fighter pilot from the first time I’d held onto the pant leg of my father’s flight suit and breathed in the pungent scent of jet fuel. But now, as I moved another step forward to achieving my dream, nothing about it felt right.

I was selected to be not only the first female, but also the youngest pilot to ever fly the Air Force’s prodigy, the F-35, Joint Strike Fighter. Not to mention doing it right out of pilot training. All that glory on top of the fact that my head was so screwed up over Colin scared the shit out of me.

Still, I plastered a smile on my face and told everyone that I was ‘fine.’ I had tits in a testosterone world and showing any sign of weakness was not an option. I. Was. Fine.

Only the best of the best would fly the Air Force’s awesome creation. It could fly from D.C. to L.A. without showing up on radar if it wanted. But what were the chances of my being selected to fly it? I wanted a Viper and avoided the F-35 because of our messed-up history. I made sure I graduated top in the class of Undergraduate Pilot Training to be able to choose any other jet. But as it always did, my plan came back and bit me in the ass. I gambled and lost. Vegas style.

It wasn’t fair.

“Why have you taken everything from me?” I screamed into the sky and kicked an incoming wave. “Leave me the hell alone.”

I stumbled as a another wave rolled in. A light pressure appeared behind my eyes skewing my vision just a little. I realized that I may have drunk a little too much, but I was beyond caring.

The ocean spray soaked my clothes and hair. I steadied myself against the current. A chuckle escaped my lips. It sounded dark and slightly crazed. A rage, like I had never felt before swirled inside me like tornado looking for its target. I swallowed the last sip of lager and shook the bottle toward the star-filled sky.

“Here’s to you, Karma,” I shouted. I closed my eyes and twirled in a circle.

I spun until I was so dizzy that I could barely stand. I roared and launched the bottle with enough force that I nearly fell face first into the water. I steadied myself.

“Bloody hell, Karma’s a bitch!”

My eyes opened to see a tall, shadowed man with broad shoulders towering over me. His arm was raised as he rubbed his forehead. I gulped as I spotted my bottle a few inches from his foot.

I stepped backwards and my heel dug into something sharp. A shooting pain launched up my leg and knocked me off balance. I swore, flailing backwards and fell into the ocean, landing with a big splash. Shock was quickly replaced by mortification. Heat traveled from cheeks to my ears.

Something, cold, smooth, and scaly swept over my legs. I shrieked and prayed a creepy crawly wouldn’t bite off one of my limbs.

With about as much grace as a pig on ice, I scrambled to the shore. Adrenaline pumped through me, but it only made me feel more woozy. Just as I swallowed a gasp of air, a blunt object smacked into my head. Rays of light blurred my vision and I shouted as a blistering pain radiated from my head.

I balled my fists with the thumbs on the outside, like Colin had taught me. Did this guy just attack me? Did he have any clue who he was dealing with? Sure, I was tipsy and not steady on my feet, but I wouldn’t go down without a fight. I was a frigging fighter pilot.

I pushed wet strands of hair from my eyes and squared my shoulders preparing to counter attack, but he waved me away as he held his nose. Blood speckled his shirt and dripped from the bottom of his hand. I softened my fists slightly still prepared to defend if needed.

“Blast it girl. You’re dangerous,” he said in a British accent that made my insides awaken. I pressed my lips together and prayed that I didn’t just kick off another Revolutionary War.

Holy shit, it was time to go. The last thing I needed was for him to call the cops or the county mental health department. And as badly as I felt, apologizing would only be an admission of guilt in a court of law or worse, land me standing at attention in front of my commanding officer for an ass-chewing.

I bolted, teetering like a penguin, to the house and hauled myself up the side stairs of the deck, dripping wet. Mom’s voice echoed inside my head to take off my sandals. The image of bloody, sandy footprints in my hall seemed almost as horrifying as the stranger’s ass I just accidentally kicked.

“Damn it,” I cursed under my breath.

I grabbed a towel on the deck chair and rushed for the outdoor shower stall on the side of the house. The water was ice cold, but it rinsed the blood from my foot and thinned a few lagers from my brain. Of course, it did nothing for the two pounds of sand in my underwear weighing me down like a sagging diaper.

I ditched the clothes and wrapped myself in the towel, shoving on the door to the inside of the house. Damn, it was stuck. I’d have to go back the way I came. I gripped my towel tighter and swung open the outside door.

Thud.

“Ouch. Bloody hell!”

I leapt backward, my hand slamming tighter into my chest. Oh my God! This could not be happening.

The guy from the beach collapsed back onto the ground, grasping at the newest wound on his head. The second I had caused in less than five minutes.

I didn’t stop to apologize, just wrapped the towel over my chest, and sprinted back into the house, locking the door behind me. There was a pair of shorts and a tank top crumpled in the corner. They were as good as anything to wear. It’s not like I wanted to dress up for my stalker, but if his knocking on the back door turned into kicking it down, it’d be nice to wear some clothes for the crime scene pictures.

Crap, where was my phone? My heart thudded in my ears. If I just ignored him, would he go away? If he didn’t take the hint, my father kept a baseball bat in the hall closet.

Three quick knocks rapped on the back door.

As I ran for my weapon, I caught a glimpse of the man standing on the deck. He peered through the glass of the French doors. I swung open the closet, pulled out the Louisville slugger, and limped toward him. I may have played soccer instead of Little League, but I still knew how to swing a bat.

“Go away. I called 911,” I shouted.

I flipped on the outside deck light so I could get a better look at the man. I’m guessing the detectives, FBI, and office of Homeland Security would need a description.

He was six foot, possibly two, with short, wavy blond hair and lightning blue eyes that were squinted from the porch light. He held a handkerchief to his nose and wore a light blue, bloodstained, linen shirt that was partially unbuttoned revealing his ripped abs. I hesitated until I remembered I was in danger.

He had on khaki shorts, flip-flops, and a tattoo on his ankle. I scanned back to the top of his body. Muscular, tan, tall, and wow, those electrifying eyes. Holy hell, this guy was freaking hot. He was going to have a really good mug shot. If only we had met under different circumstances, I might actually offer him a beer.

A soft smile tugged at his lip as he dangled my smartphone in his hand. My wet, sand-covered smartphone.

“Son of a bitch,” I moaned as I remembered that it was in my back pocket when I fell into the ocean. I had to get it into a bag of rice and fast. It had my music, my schedules, and all my passwords. I was lucky if I remembered my own number, let alone everyone else’s.

“Leave it on the deck. And go.”

I tightened my grip on the bat. Mr. Tall, blond, and handsome removed the handkerchief from his nose.

A tiny flutter tickled in my chest. My head tipped slightly to the side. He didn’t look threatening. Minus the blood, lumps and cuts, he looked like he just stepped off the front cover of GQ.

“Sorry, Miss Nutter, but do you think I could trouble you for an icepack?”

“No,” I replied.

“Please?”

He sounded and looked like a real life Prince Charming. The only thing missing was his white horse. Maybe the Karma gods had sent a peace offering? I shook my head. No. My house was built of stone and there was no way I was letting a freaking wolf in, no matter how smoking hot he was.

I needed to protect myself.

But why did I need protection? I looked at the bloodstain drying on his shirt. If anything, he needed protection from me.

As if he had read my mind, he shook his head and laughed. He sat my phone on the bench, raised his hand in the air in a non-threatening manner and turned to walk away. Where was he going?

I dove forward and gripped the door handle ready to pull it open, but I stopped as my father’s stern, no-nonsense voice boomed in the back of my head—”Don’t ever let strange men into the house.”

But when in my life would I meet another crazy beautiful man with a British accent that twisted my lady parts into a knot? His hand rested on the railing as he was about to walk down the steps and out of my life forever. I cursed under my breath and prayed that I wouldn’t wind up on the news.

“Wait,” I called to him as I swung open the door. He stopped and turned to look at me. “There’s ice there in the cooler. There, by the chaise.” My voice cracked as our eyes met.

“Thank you,” he said. His steps back toward the house were hesitant. His eyebrow rose as he pointed to the bat in my hands. “Are you planning on hitting me with that?”

His lips tugged into a smirk. It was the most incredible half-lifted-top-lip smirk I had ever seen. And that damn accent. Holy hell it was getting hot in here.

“I didn’t do a good enough job before,” I said and I couldn’t help but smile.

“You are a bit of a nutter, aren’t you?”

“I guess it would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” I wasn’t sure of the exact definition of nutter, but the way it sounded rolling off his tongue and the way his shirt gripped his muscles it didn’t matter what he called me as long as he didn’t leave.

I handed him a towel that I’d left out earlier. “Here’s a peace offering.”

“With a smile like yours, your mental state is forgiven.”

In a bar, that line would’ve earned an eye roll and a sigh, but with his alluring accent, I’d let it slide. His smile widened as he accepted the towel and wrapped the ice from the cooler inside. He pressed it on his forehead and winced, his smile replaced by a scowl. A sexy scowl. Damn, I was so going to need another cold shower

“Thanks,” I stammered and glanced down. My cheeks burned. “I need to get my phone into rice.”

I scooped up my cell from where he’d left it and nearly dropped it with my shaking hands. I turned to head inside but stopped, “Can I get you anything? Maybe something to drink?”

I wasn’t sure what I was doing. He needed to go, but I liked the way he looked me over. Maybe a drink wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do. The Fourth of July and all I had planned was screaming at the ocean. A cute guy’s company sounded like a fun, sane option.

“Is it safe? You don’t plan on finishing me off with a poisonous pint, do ya?” he asked.

I was just about to laugh at his comment when he winked and it stopped me short. My breath hitched in my chest. What the hell was it about this guy that made me react like I was in heat?

Take control, Tink.

“You’ll have to decide if you want to take your chances,” I replied with a slightly flirty tone.

“Something tells me to run like bloody hell, but something else tells me to take my chances. I think that might be the head trauma talking.”

I fought a smile. He was charming and witty and I couldn’t help but want to know him better.

He kicked off his sandals and tucked his handkerchief in his back pocket before sitting on the chaise lounge. He held the ice to his nose. His eyes reflected in the moonlight. I knew nothing about this strange man, yet his presence had made me remember how good it felt to smile again.

I took my phone to the kitchen and caught his reflection in the window. He continued to stare at me with a smirk. My insides stalled and hit a free-fall.

I opened up the pantry, and rummaged through the container. The closest thing to rice was quinoa. It was a grain, wasn’t it? I shrugged and dropped the phone in the bag. It was close enough.

Out the window, my stranger remained sitting on the deck with his icepack. At least it gave me a little time to run to my room and scope out my reflection.

My hair was drying into a natural beach wave and I tousled it to add a little volume. I breathed into my hand, then squirted a blob of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and quickly scrubbed my teeth. After adding a little mascara on my lashes, I swiped my lips with lip balm. Oh my God. What was I doing?

I didn’t understand how this guy could make me feel so crazy. I didn’t know a single thing about him—not even his name. I was acting like a high school girl with a crush. This wasn’t me. Were an accent and a panty-dropping smirk all it took to ground me?

I was having a horrible night before he came along and tomorrow was going to be a shit day. I had enough to drink and I didn’t give a damn. Tonight, I would allow myself to feel something—anything. For one night. Then, tomorrow he would go back to wherever he was from and I would continue onto my path of hell.

After all, it was a holiday, a day to celebrate independence. It used to be my favorite. Maybe, just maybe, it could be once again.