What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3 Page 10

  “True. I’d be desolate without pizza.” She grinned at him, added the mushrooms, and started breaking eggs into a bowl.

  “Themed specialties.” Bull considered. “Perhaps a night a week?”

  “That would be good. So, someone craving Italian knows he should visit on, say, Thursdays.”

  “Hmm.” He considered for a moment. “I like it.”

  His approving nod lit a glow inside her, much like when she’d been ten, served her first lasagna, and been cheered by everyone at the table. She smiled back, regretful she couldn’t simply enjoy feeling…valued. Making her place at the roadhouse. But she wasn’t here to stay or to do anything but get Kit and Aric out.

  When she closed the egg container, he chuckled and put his hand over hers. “Three more eggs, please, sweetheart. I’m a big eater.”

  His warm, callused palm was so wide it covered her hand completely.

  A disconcerting need flared inside her as her hormones bubbled to life.

  No, no, no.

  “Three more it is.” She tried to lift her hand, but he had it pinned down, then slid the sleeve of her flannel shirt upward. Exposing all the red scratches and scrapes from yesterday.

  With his other hand, he tucked her hair behind her ear and studied her face. “You look like you got tossed into a blender on the chop setting.” He ran a finger down her cheek beside one long scrape. So gentle a touch, yet his grip on her hand was as unyielding as his gaze.

  She swallowed and considered lying, but simply couldn’t. Evasion, then. “I was exploring your Alaska wilderness and ended up off the trail.” Her smile made the scratch on her chin pull painfully. “Some of those bushes are pushier than rush hour, subway riders. One of them had spines all over it—the stem, the leaves, everything.” Thank God she had tweezers with her since a whole lot of those spines had ended up in her arm.

  “I bet you met up with some devil’s club.” A line formed between his black brows. “Unless you’re an experienced hiker, leaving the trail is unwise. It would be my pleasure to show you around.”

  She couldn’t think of what to say. He was strong, competent, and knew his way around the wilderness. How she wanted to simply beg him to help her get Kit and Aric, but…that would be foolish.

  They barely knew each other. She thought of the way Iron Boy had died and cringed inside. Helping her would mean risking his life.

  And there was always the risk he’d do the logical thing—like call the police.

  So… Pulling him into her problems wouldn’t be smart. Neither would spending time with him. No matter how appealing he was—a man who had a sense of humor, had been hurt by his ex, was a good listener, and could cook.

  Yet, despite all her arguments and logic, she wanted him. She could feel the heat growing between them and how her excitement fizzed with the slightest brush of his skin, with the deep sound of his voice.

  She shook her head. “I’ve decided that wandering around a forest where the foliage is more aggressive than I am isn’t my thing.” True enough, even if she’d be doing exactly that in a day or so. A chill ran through her. Alaska wilderness areas were fantastically beautiful…and very scary. And then there were the PZs…

  His gaze narrowed slowly as if he could see the quiver deep in her bones. As if he knew how scared she was. Why did he have to be so good at reading people?

  She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

  They both knew she was turning down more than his offer to go hiking. Unfortunately, she had a feeling he would be keeping an eye on her. Which would be so very comforting—except she couldn’t afford that.

  “All right.” His expression didn’t change, so why did it feel as if he was disappointed?

  Chapter Nine

  Try to look unimportant; the enemy may be low on ammo and not want to waste a bullet on you. ~ Murphy’s Laws of Combat

  * * *

  Bull led the way down an animal path, followed by a happy Gryff. Hawk brought up the rear. The still-damp trail was a bit rambling, but it’d get them to the PZ compound eventually, and he was in no hurry.

  An Alaska forest in May was the best of times. The snow receded until only remnants remained in the shade. The weather was drier. The spring-green new birch leaves were bright against the black spruce. The underbrush of bearberry and currants was still sparse, making it easier to see the wildlife—like a skinny black bear emerging from hibernation with its odiferous, scruffy winter coat.

  The trees were noisy with migratory birds, and over the leafy canopy, a trio of squawking ravens were dive-bombing a bald eagle out of their territory.

  Laughing at the sight, Bull paused and glanced back at his brother. “Teamwork wins the war again, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Hawk watched the battle with a slight smile.

  Bull decided to try for conversation. “You think Gabe is right? The PZs numbers are increasing?”

  Hawk stepped over a fallen log, slick with rotting bark. “Why? Got more shootings out here?”

  “Not recently. The locals have learned that anyone close to the compound is liable to get perforated. Drives Gabe nuts.” Bull started walking again. “The victims never see the shooter. They’re always fairly sure the gunfire comes from the compound—but the PZs insist the shots couldn’t have come from their area.”

  “Without a witness, he can’t arrest anyone.” Hawk sounded disgusted.

  “Yep.” Bull grinned and cautioned the former sniper who was almost as silent as Caz, the former assassin, “Do me a favor and don’t get noisy.”

  An annoyed grunt answered him. “Their numbers might be increasing. There’re more new faces in town.”

  The trail branched, and Bull stopped to calculate distance and direction. “Not what I wanted to hear.” There was only one new face that interested him these days. A woman with big brown eyes, a stubborn chin, and a smart mouth. Someone who worked hard, enjoyed the customers, laughed like she meant it, and didn’t take crap from anyone.

  He chuckled, and beside him, Hawk lifted an eyebrow.

  “Ah, I was thinking of another new face—a recent hire at the roadhouse—”

  “The New Yorker who doesn’t like you?”

  Right. Audrey mentioned her during one of their patio meals. “That’s the one. She’s a delight to watch in action. The other night, when she leaned over to put a drink down, an asshole tourist shoved his face against her breasts.”

  “You kill him?”

  “I didn’t have to.” Bull had been a second from vaulting the bar to do so. “She dumped the entire tray of drinks in his lap, then sweetly told him and his buddies that the only service they’d get from that moment on would be from the giant bartender at the bar itself. And she pointed to me.”

  “Nice.” Hawk gave a nod of approval.

  “Yeah, she did good.” Frankie’d leashed her temper just enough to get her point across without it escalating into a brawl. And, hell, now he had a craving to see her when she let her emotions loose. No matter what emotion. Actually, he had one emotion in mind.

  Because he was an asshole. Employee, remember? Hands off.

  After giving Gryff a quick pat, Bull turned down the trail to the right.

  Hawk followed.

  Bull had been surprised when Hawk volunteered to come today. He seemed set on annoying Gabe whenever possible—and Gabe was the one who’d asked for periodic recons of the Patriot Zealot compound. “A shame we don’t do more hiking with everyone. Caz. And Gabe.”

  A glance back showed Hawk’s expression had gone cold.

  “Want to tell me what happened between you and Gabe?”

  “No.”

  “What the hell? You mean there aren’t going to be any brotherly confidences on our little walk?”

  “Asshole.” Hawk’s mouth twitched. He might be a withdrawn hardass with a shitload of triggers to set him off, but one of his redeeming traits was his ability to laugh at himself.

  “Fine.” Bull ducked under a low-han
ging branch. “Now winter’s over, you got any plans on what you’re going to do? I can use you in the restaurant or bar. Or with managing Mako’s foundation.”

  “For fuck’s sake, get real.”

  Not an unexpected response. Hawk didn’t hate people, but wasn’t exactly sociable, mostly because he hated to talk.

  “I’m picking up work as a bush pilot.” Hawk stepped around a patch of snow. “Deliveries, mostly. Some taxi stuff as long as it’s not that sightseeing crap where I’d have to give an idiotic tourist spiel.”

  “Sounds good.” Relief made Bull’s voice come out gruff. If Hawk had flying jobs, he wouldn’t return to being a mercenary. They’d all been worried.

  A while later, Bull slowed and held up a hand in the ‘stay quiet’ signal. They were within hearing distance of the compound. Time to go silent.

  The fence marked the edge of the PZ’s property line, so Bull and Hawk weren’t trespassing. But that had never stopped the fanatics from acting like pissed-off yellowjackets. Only these wasps had bullets instead of stingers.

  In the late afternoon, Frankie left her car safely hidden behind some bushes, sat down on a log, and used a compass to mark her starting location on the map.

  There, it hadn’t even taken her too long. She was improving.

  Taking another reading, she set off toward where the Patriot Zealot compound should be.

  It’d sure be easier if there were some actual hiking trails in this area—or cell service so she could use a GPS. But noooo, it was all wilderness.

  Between quick heart-lifting glances at the gorgeous mountain to the south and east, she concentrated on her navigation. The vegetation was annoyingly thick until she blundered onto a thin animal-created path. With a sigh of relief, she checked her compass and marked her map, then followed it. It was much better walking, only what was that? Ew.

  In the center of the path was a huge steaming pile of poop. Nose wrinkled, she stepped over it. Please, let whatever beast made that be a long, long way away.

  Something thudded off to her right, and she jumped. But…okay…it was moving away. A rustling sound came from her left. She jerked—and a bird burst from a bush. Frankie put her hand over her racing heart. Only a bird.

  Oh, I want to go home. At least in New York, she knew what she was doing.

  She’d tried to figure out all this wilderness hiking by researching her ass off since talking to Kit almost a week ago. In the little Rescue coffee shop, she’d watched videos on her phone on how to navigate in a forest, then bought a compass and topographical map in the sports store.

  Her goal today was to reach the compound—without getting lost.

  And then see what would be needed to sneak up to the fence behind the children’s building.

  The muddy patches of the trail showed prints. Cloven hooves. Maybe a deer or something? But that…that was a boot print. Her stomach tensed. Did those fanatics hike around outside their property?

  She still hadn’t worked out how she’d navigate the correct paths when rescuing Kit and Aric. In the dark. There were way too many little animal trails. It’d be awfully easy to get lost. But, obviously, if the PZs were out here at any time, she couldn’t tie bright ribbons or something to the trees to mark her path. That’d be like waving a flag saying someone was sneaking around their compound.

  Never mind. The nighttime navigation plans would have to wait. She’d figure something out.

  Her dark green cargo pants pockets were stuffed with basic hiking survival essentials—thank you, Google—like matches, a space blanket, and bear spray. The spray would probably work against PZs, too, right?

  Voices sounded in the distance, and when the trail branched, she left herself a small unobtrusive marker of sticks and kept moving. She veered around a big patch of spine-covered devil’s club. Ha, I know you now, demon plant.

  Finally, something glinted off to her left. She pushed some branches aside to see. Yes, that was chain-link fencing sparkling in the sunlight.

  Triumph bubbled up inside her, but breaking into a victory song might be…unwise.

  There was a wide, cleared space between the fencing and the tree line. Probably so no one could approach the fence during the daylight hours without being spotted.

  Merda, that was a very tall, heavy fence. A discouraging one. There was no way she—or Kit—could climb over that thing, especially with the rolls of razor wire strung along the top. Maybe wire cutters would work?

  This was the west fence, the one closest to Dall Road, but the buildings where the children had been playing were on the east side. She’d have to hike all the way around to decide on the best place to sneak in—or out. She headed south.

  Frustration built inside her. The animal trails didn’t always follow the fence line. And if she didn’t watch carefully, she was liable to end up lost. Just the thought dried up all the spit in her mouth.

  Inside the compound, she saw fields and the long greenhouses. A raised wooden tower elevated on stilts sat at the corner of the west and south fence. She examined it warily, trying to stay out of sight.

  After a minute, she retreated back into the forest and followed the south fence toward the east. This place was way too big.

  Thankfully, she was off tonight and tomorrow. Aikido kept her in fair shape, but hiking in this rugged terrain called for different muscles. And those muscles were starting to complain.

  Bull could probably run this trail without breaking a sweat.

  Bad Frankie. We’re not going to think about that man.

  But thinking about him was far too easy to do. Sex with him would be like the scream-worthy moment a roller-coaster dropped over the highest peak.

  But a relationship? More like the slow, clattering climb up the roller-coaster tracks to the top, giving a person too much time to wonder about how bad things could get. And inevitably, the carnival ride would end with the cars coming to a jerky halt.

  She avoided handsome men for good reasons, starting with them being shallow and self-centered—like her ex. Bull…didn’t seem to be like that. He was certainly smart. Charming. Friendly. Fun. Caring.

  However, no matter how compelling he was, she wasn’t here for a man; she was here for Kit and Aric.

  There—there was another wooden tower—the southeast corner. Yes! Staying hidden, she turned to follow it up the east side.

  Are those the women’s and children’s buildings?

  Too much underbrush was in the way. Skirting a patch of snow, she worked her way forward to where the undergrowth was thinner, and she could see across the bare area between the forest and the fence to the buildings inside. She could hear men talking and occasionally see a child between the buildings. The children made almost no noise at all.

  Wait, was that Aric?

  Without thinking, she parted the bushes so she could peek out.

  There was a horrible loud bang. Then another. Something went thunk ahead of her, and bark splintered on a tree trunk. Cazzo, someone was shooting at her.

  Another crack. Something tugged at her sleeve, scraped across her deltoid.

  She dove back into the woods, running directly away from—

  The ground disappeared out from under her. She fell, down and down, trying to grab branches, dirt, and nothing slowed her tumbling.

  She landed hard, almost in a tiny stream bed and gritted her teeth to keep screams from escaping.

  Hearing men shouting, she scrambled farther into the underbrush. Would they come after her?

  Panting, she frantically checked her surroundings. Even if the bushes were springing back into place, she could see the track of her fall.

  Everything hurt, especially her arm that burned like fire. They’d shot her. No time to check it. Get out of here, Frankie.

  She shoved to her feet and ran upstream on the bank. Her boots slipped and slid in the mud and snowy patches.

  Glancing back, she saw her footprints that would point the way right to her. No, no, no.

  She’d
read thrillers about fugitives walking in the water to hide their tracks. Here was a stream. Would it work?

  It might. She had to lose whoever was after her. That came before anything. She jumped into the calf-high stream. As the frigid water washed over her boots and trickled inside, she sucked in a breath and broke into a stumbling run downstream—the opposite direction of where she’d been going.

  The minutes passed, an eternity of minutes, and the sounds of people behind her grew louder, faded, then disappeared. Relief swept through her. She’d lost her pursuers.

  She’d also lost any sense of where the road might be. Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo. A new fear crept up her spine.

  The forest darkened around her. It couldn’t be sunset already. No, not sunset. Black clouds filled the sky. It was going to rain; she just knew it.

  She stumbled up onto the bank, and the icy water drained from her boots. Her feet were numb. Her sleeve was wet—and red—because her upper arm still bled. A deep furrow cut across her deltoid and burned like fire.

  Stop the bleeding was a basic first aid rule. And she sure didn’t want to attract bears or anything.

  But with what? Her socks were wet and muddy. She wasn’t wearing anything that would—okay, maybe she was. No one was around to see her breasts, right? She pulled off her shirt and bra and wrapped her bra around her arm, then awkwardly used her teeth and free hand to knot it. An icy wind whipped over her bare skin.

  As she eased her shirt back on, she shivered. That bullet could easily have struck her chest. Or her head.

  Keep moving.

  Farther down the stream bank, a small trail disappeared into the forest. A hobbit trail—because hobbits were a lot less scary than bears. It finally wound its way to a bigger trail. Um, did that mean it had bigger animals?

  Maybe it would eventually reach a road. She kept trudging, her boots squishing with every step, her feet cold and blistering within wet socks.

  An odd feeling ran down her spine and raised the hair on her nape. She halted. What a creepy feeling, like…like someone was watching her.