A bead of sweat took a slow path down his throat and into the neckline of his dark T-shirt. Pushed by a hot, insubstantial breeze, a weed brushed his cheek.
Clint never moved.
Through the shifting shadows of the pulled blinds, he could detect activity in the small cabin. The low drone of voices filtered out the screen door, but Clint couldn’t make out any of the slurred conversation.
Next to him, Red stirred. In little more than a breath of sound, he said, “Fuck, I hate waiting.”
Wary of a trap, Clint wanted the entire area checked. Mojo chose that moment to slip silently into the grass beside them. He’d done a surveillance of the cabin, the surrounding grounds, and probably gotten a good peek in the back window. Mojo could be invisible and eerily silent when he chose.
“All’s clear.”
Something tightened inside Clint. “She’s in there?”
“Alive but pissed off and real scared.” Mojo’s obsidian eyes narrowed. “Four men. They’ve got her tied up.”
Clint silently worked his jaw, fighting for his famed icy control. The entire situation was bizarre. How was it Asa knew exactly where in northern Kentucky to find the men, yet they didn’t appear to expect an interruption? He didn’t doubt Asa’s power, but this was just a bit too pat for Clint. Had Robert deliberately fed the info to Asa, to embroil him in a trap, so Clint would kill him? And why would Robert want Asa dead?
Somehow, both he and Julie Rose were pawns. But for what purpose?
Clint’s rage grew, clawing to be freed, making his stomach pitch with the violent need to act. “They’re armed?”
Mojo nodded with evil delight. “And on their way out.”
Given that a small bonfire lit the clearing in front of the cabin, Clint wasn’t surprised that they would venture outside. The hunting cabin was deep in the hills, mostly surrounded by thick woods. Obviously, the kidnappers felt confident in their seclusion.
He’d have found them eventually, Clint thought, but Asa’s tip had proved invaluable. And a bit too fucking convenient.
So far, nothing added up, and that made him more cautious than anything else could have.
He’d work it out as they went along. The drive had cost them an hour and a half, with another half hour crawling through the woods. It was a little after ten at night. They’d had Julie for almost sixteen hours.
But now Clint had them.
The cabin door opened and two men stumbled out under the glare of a yellow bug light. One wore jeans and an unbuttoned shirt; the other was shirtless, showing off a variety of tattoos on his skinny chest. They looked youngish and drunk and stupid. They looked cruel.
Raucous laughter echoed around the small clearing, disturbed only by a feminine voice, shrill with fear and anger, as two other men dragged Julie Rose outside.
She wasn’t crying.
No, sir. Julie Rose was too busy complaining to cry.
Her torn nightgown hung off her right shoulder nearly to her waist, exposing one small pale breast. She struggled against hard hands and deliberate roughness until she was shoved, landing on her right hip in the barren area in front of the house. With her hands tied behind her back, she had no way to brace herself. She fell flat, but quickly struggled into a sitting position.
The glow of the bonfire reflected on her bruised, dirty face—and in her furious eyes. She was frightened, she had to be, but she hid it beneath bravado.
“I think we should finish stripping her,” one of the men said.
Julie’s bare feet pedaled against the uneven ground as she tried to move farther away.
The men laughed some more, and the one who’d spoken went onto his haunches in front of her. He caught her bare ankle, immobilizing her.
“Not too much longer, bitch. I’ll be making that call in just a few minutes. They’ll send the money for you in the morning.” He stroked her leg, up to her knee, higher. “After that, who cares what I do with you, huh?” He laughed. “You getting anxious?”
Her chest heaved; her lips quivered.
She spit on him.
Clint was on his feet in an instant, striding through the tall grass and into the clearing before Mojo’s or Red’s hissed curses could register. The four men, standing in a cluster, turned to look at him with various expressions of astonishment, confusion, and horror. They were slow to react, and Clint realized they were not only young and foolish, but more than a little drunk, too. Idiots.
One of the young fools reached behind his back.
“You.” Clint stabbed him with a fast lethal look while keeping his long, ground-eating pace to Julie. “Touch that weapon and I’ll break your leg.”
The guy blanched—and promptly dropped his hands.
Clint didn’t think of anything other than his need to get between Julie and the most immediate threat. But without giving it conscious thought, he knew that Mojo and Red would back him up. If any guns were drawn, theirs would fire first.
The man who’d been abusing Julie snorted in disdain at the interference. He took a step forward, saying, “Just who the hell do you think you—”
Reflexes on automatic, driven by a blinding rage, Clint pivoted to the side and kicked out hard and fast. The force of his boot heel caught the man on the chin with satisfying impact. He sprawled flat with a raw groan that dwindled into blackness. He didn’t move.
That galvanized another man into action. He leapt forward. Clint stepped to the side and, like clockwork, kicked out a knee, following with a punch to the throat. The obscene sounds of breaking bone and cartilage and the accompanying gurgle of pain split the night, sending nocturnal creatures to scurry through the leaves.
Clint glanced at Julie’s white face, saw she was frozen in shock, and headed toward the two remaining men. Eyes wide, they started to back up, and Clint curled his mouth into the semblance of a smile. “I don’t think so.”
A gun was finally drawn, but not in time to be fired. Clint grabbed the man’s wrist and, with a sharp movement, twisted up and back.
“I think you broke my arm,” the man yelped.
Clint said, “No,” and twisted once more. “Now it’s broke.”
Still holding him, Clint pulled him forward and into a solid punch to the stomach. Without breath, the painful shouts ended real quick.
Robert Burns had said not to bring anyone in. Clint couldn’t see committing random murder, and that’s what it’d be if he started breaking heads now. But in an effort to protect Julie Rose and her apparently already tattered reputation, he wouldn’t turn them over to the law either.
That didn’t mean he’d let them go. He had a plan, one that would give retribution without involving Julie Rose. For now…Clint, fed up and ready to end it, turned to the fourth man. He threw a punch at the man’s nose and another at his ribs and finally one to his kidneys. He watched the guy crumble to his knees, then to his face, wheezing for breath.
They wouldn’t be up and running anytime soon.
Behind Clint, Red’s dry tone intruded. “Well, that was efficient.”
Clint struggled with himself for only an instant before realizing he had no one else to fight. He jerked around, saw Julie Rose held in wide-eyed terror, and his stomach tumbled. Mojo stepped out of the way as Clint lurched to the bushes.
Anger turned to acid in his gut.
Typically, at least for Clint Evans and his weak-ass stomach, he puked.
Julie could hardly believe her eyes. One minute she’d known she would be raped and probably killed, and the fear had been all consuming, a live, clawing dread inside her that made rational thought impossible.
Now…now she didn’t know what had happened. Three men, looking like angelic convicts, had burst into the clearing. Well no, that wasn’t right. The first man hadn’t burst anywhere. He’d strode in, casual as you please, and then proceeded to make mincemeat out of her abductors.
He’d taken on four men as if they were no more than gnats.
She’d never seen that type of brawling. His blows hadn’t been designed to slow down an opponent, or to bruise or hurt. One strike—and the men had dropped like dead weights. Even the sight of the gun hadn’t fazed him. He moved so fast, so smoothly, the weapon hadn’t mattered at all.
When he’d delivered those awesome strikes, his expression, hard and cold, hadn’t changed. A kick here, a punch there, and the men who’d held her, taunted her, the men who had seemed terrifyingly invincible to her, were no longer a threat.
He was amazing, awesome. He was…throwing up.
Her heart pounded in slow, deep thumps that hurt her breastbone and made it difficult to draw an even breath. The relief flooding over her in drowning force didn’t feel much different than her fear had.
Her awareness of that man was almost worse.
Like spotting Superman, or a wild animal or a combination of both, she felt awed and amazed and disbelieving.
She was safe now, but was she really?
One of the saviors approached her. He was fair, with blond hair and light eyes, though she couldn’t see the exact color in the dark night with only the fire for illumination. Trying to make himself look less like a convict, he gave her a slight smile.
A wasted effort.
He moved real slow, watchful and gentle. “Don’t pay any mind to Clint.” He spoke in a low, melodic croon. “He always pukes afterward.”
Her savior’s name was Clint.
Julie blinked several times, trying to gather her wits and calm the spinning in her head. “He does?”
Another man approached, equally cautious, just as gentle. But he had black hair and blacker eyes. He didn’t say anything, just stood next to the other man and surveyed her bruised face with an awful frown that should have been alarming, but wasn’t.
The blond nodded. “Yeah. Hurtin’ people—even people who deserve it like these bastards did—always upsets Clint’s stomach. He’ll be all right in a minute.”
Julie ached, her body, her heart, her mind. She’d long ago lost the feeling in her arms, but every place else pulsed with relentless prickling pain. She looked over at Clint. He had his hands on his knees, his head hanging. The poor man. “He was saving me, wasn’t he?”
“Oh. Yes, ma’am. We’re here to take you home. Everything will be okay now.” His glance darted to her chest and quickly away.
Julie realized she wasn’t decently covered, but with her hands tied tightly behind her back, she couldn’t do anything about it. She felt conspicuous and vulnerable and ready to cry. In an effort to better conceal herself, she did her best to hunch her aching shoulders before looking back at Clint.
Just the sight of him, big, powerful, brave, gave her a measure of reassurance. He straightened slowly, drew several deep breaths.
He was an enormous man, layered in sleek muscle with wide shoulders and a tapered waist and long, thick thighs. His biceps were as large as her legs, his hands easily twice the size of her own.
Eyes closed, he tipped his head back and swallowed several times, drinking in the cooler, humid night air. At that moment, he looked very weak.
He hadn’t looked weak while pulverizing those men. Julie licked her dry lips and fought off another wave of the strange dizziness.
Clint flicked a glance toward her, and their gazes locked together with a sharp snap, shocking Julie down to the soles of her bare dirty feet.
He looked annoyed by the near tactile contact.
Julie felt electrified. Her pains faded away into oblivion.
It took a few moments, but his forced smile, meant to be reassuring, was a tad sickly. Still watching her, he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small silver flask. He tipped it up, swished his mouth out, and spit.
All the while, he held her with that implacable burning gaze.
When he replaced the flask in his pocket and started toward her, every nerve ending in Julie’s body came alive with expectation. Fear, alarm, relief—she wasn’t at all certain what she felt, she just knew she felt it in spades. Her breath rose to choke her, her body quaked, and strangely enough, tears filled her eyes.
I will not cry, I will not cry…
She rubbed her eye on her shoulder and spoke to the two men, just to help pull herself together. “Should he be drinking?”
Blondie said, “Oh, no. It’s mouthwash.” And with a smile, “He always carries it with him, cuz of his stomach and the way he usually—”
The dark man nudged the blonde, and they both fell silent.
Mouthwash. She hadn’t figured on that.
She wanted to ignore him, but her gaze was drawn to him like a lodestone. Fascinated, she watched as Clint drew nearer. During his approach, he peeled his shirt off over his head, then stopped in front of her, blocking her from the others. They took the hint and gave her their backs.
Julie stared at that broad, dark, hairy chest. He was more man than any man she’d ever seen, and the dizziness assailed her again.
With a surprisingly gentle touch, Clint went to one knee and laid the shirt over her chest. It was warm and damp from his body. His voice was low, a little rough when he spoke. “I’m going to cut your hands free. Just hold still a second, okay?”
Julie didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. She’d been scared for so long now, what seemed like weeks but hadn’t even been a full day. And now she was rescued.
She was safe.
A large, lethal blade appeared in Clint’s capable hands, but Julie felt no fear. Not now. Not with him so close.
He didn’t go behind her to free her hands. He reached around her while looking over her shoulder and blocking her body with his own. Absurdly, she became aware of his hot scent, rich with the odor of sweat and anger and man. After smelling her own fear for hours on end, it was a delicious treat for her senses. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the smell of him, on his warmth and obvious strength and stunning ability.
He enveloped her with his size, and with the promise of safety.
She felt a small tug, and the ropes fell away. But as Julie tried to move, red-hot fire rushed through her arms, into her shoulders and wrists, forcing a groan of sharp-edged agony from her tight lips.
“Shhh, easy now.” As if he’d known exactly what she’d feel, Clint sat in front of her. His long legs opened around her, and he braced her against his bare upper body. His flesh was hot, smooth beneath her cheek.
Slowly, carefully, he brought her arms around and allowed her to muffle her moans against his shoulder. He massaged her, kneading and rubbing from her upper back, her shoulders to her elbows to her wrists, and still crooning to her in that low voice. His hard fingers dug deep into her soft flesh, working out the cramps with merciless determination and loosening her stiff joints that seemed frozen in place.
As the pain eased, tiredness sank in, and Julie slumped against him. She’d been living off adrenaline for hours, and now being safe left her utterly drained, unable to stay upright.
It was like propping herself against a warm, vibrant brick wall. There was no give to Clint’s hard shoulder, and that comforted Julie.
One thought kept reverberating through her weary brain: He really saved me.
For a single moment, he seemed wary at her limp acceptance of him. Then, as if handling an infant, his arms came around her. Large, rough hands opened on her back, cradling, soothing.
“Mojo,” he said quietly, “how bad’s the damage?”
The man who was darker than sin lifted one massive shoulder. “Same as usual.”
The blonde filled in with a grin in his tone. “No one’s dead, Clint, but you broke a jaw, busted a knee, broke at least one wrist…”
Clint leaned slightly away from Julie and looked around at the scattered, moaning bodies with a scowl. “Shit.” Julie felt his tension, though his voice and his touch didn’t change. “They can still talk?”
“Yeah.” Grim relish imbued Mojo’s tone. “I’ll make ’em talk.”
“I’d like to kill them,” Clint said in that same moderate tone, “but I suppose I’ve done enough.”
Mojo looked down at Julie, his devil’s gaze filled with tenderness. “They had it coming.”
“Yeah.” Clint’s big hand cradled the side of her face. “Can you stand?”
As in use her legs? “Of course.” But Julie wasn’t sure. Humiliated by her own weakness, she clung to Clint as he lifted them both to their feet. The second she was upright, she burrowed close again. He stood so much taller than her, her face came even with his bare chest. Crisp hair tickled her nose, her chin.
Facing the world was more than she could handle just yet. She was…ashamed. Embarrassed. Still shaken. And she felt very needy—something that didn’t sit right with her—but she’d used up all her reserves and couldn’t find the gumption to fight off the feeling.
This man seemed willing to hold her, and for the moment, she was more than willing to let him. God knew, there was no one else.
A strange stillness hummed in the air as all three men went silent. Someone cleared his throat. Someone shifted. The evening breeze swirled around them, mingling the male scents and dispersing the sense of danger with fresh air.
Clint spoke close to her ear, and she detected the minty mouthwash on his breath. “Why don’t you let me get this shirt on you, okay?”
More humiliation swamped her senses. She’d completely forgotten that her nightgown was torn. Remembering how her abductors had gotten increasingly mean as they drank, she shivered. She didn’t want to let Clint go—so she didn’t.
With her nose pressed to his chest, she whispered, “Petie tried to touch me, but I couldn’t…couldn’t let him but he held onto my gown and then it ripped and they…” Her voice dwindled to an embarrassing croak.
“Shhh. I know.” Clint did some more rubbing, then offered as a balm, “I broke his jaw.”
Fierce satisfaction filled her. “Good.”
His whiskered jaw teased her temple when he smiled. “C’mere. Let’s turn you around.” Still holding her close, he rotated them both so that her back was to the other men. To her relief, he didn’t force any space between them. “Your arms feel better now?”
“Yes.” They did, but not much. Petie had tied her hands as soon as he’d taken her, and then kept them tied. Her limbs had first gone to sleep, then gone numb. She ached. Not just her muscles, but deep down inside herself.
Keeping her against him as much as possible, Clint carefully removed his shirt from where it had been draped over her front. He shook it out one-handed, not looking at where her exposed breast flattened against his wide, naked chest.
Julie didn’t need to look. She felt the mingling of their heartbeats, hers too fast, his slow and easy and, given her circumstances, very reassuring.
Using infinite care, he lifted her right arm and began dressing her.
Julie let him, aware of the caution in his touch, his breath on her shoulder, the softness of the worn cotton as it pulled over her head, down her arms. He eased her an inch away, and the material slid over her breast, over her nipple.
She couldn’t meet his gaze.
The shirt hung to the middle of her thighs and would have easily wrapped around her twice. With incredible gentleness, he smoothed it into place. “Better?”
“Yes.” And it really, really was.
Silence, then, “You okay?”
Head down, she nodded. “Yes.”
Clint hesitated before touching her chin and lifting her face until she had to look into his eyes.
“Those are an awful lot of yeses you’re giving me, Julie Rose.”
Mesmerized, Julie got caught in his gaze again. His eyes were…well, there was nothing ordinary about them, though she couldn’t really say the green was anything special. There was just so much intensity, so much emotion there. They’d looked cold earlier, but now they burned with heat.
The bonfire behind her reflected in his face and made pronounced shadows beneath his high cheekbones, his sculpted jaw, his square chin. He wasn’t what she would have termed a classically attractive man, but he was a hero. A bona fide, kick-ass, more than capable hero who offered her safety, and to Julie, that made him the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
When she continued to stare up at him, he tried another smile. This one looked better than the one he’d given her right after throwing up. It was a smile of encouragement, of understanding. A little arrogant, a lot sweet.
He smoothed her tangled hair, lifted it out of the neckline of the shirt. “Did I scare you?”
He’d spoken in a whisper, so Julie did the same. “When?”
“A little bit ago. When I was…” His mouth flattened as he searched for the right word.
“When you were beating them up for me?”
Surprise shone in his face at the way she’d worded that, but he didn’t correct her. “Yeah.”
“I wasn’t afraid.” She turned her cheek into his big hand, wanting him to understand that she wasn’t a coward. “I was relieved.”
“Good.”
Julie almost smiled, too, but then Petie groaned, a broken sound of horrible pain. She turned her head.
“It’s okay, Julie Rose,” Clint told her. “He can’t hurt you now.”
Wondering at the way he’d used her full name, Julie turned away from the man who’d taken her, abused her. She curled into her rescuer’s side. “I know.”
“We should go.”
She was a schoolteacher, a woman used to taking control of unruly classes and dealing with difficult, often exasperating parents. She held her own in all situations, even standing up to Drew whenever necessary. She wouldn’t keep acting like a fool now. It was over. She was safe.
Julie nodded. “Go where?”
Clint stalled. His heavy arm rested over her shoulders. His body was alongside hers, powerful and comforting. He didn’t look at her for the longest time.
“Back to your fiancé,” he finally said.
Julie blinked up at him and then leaned away. She didn’t know if it was the relief of finally being safe or the lack of food and water, but she suddenly felt dizzy.
She swayed, and Clint caught her close. “Hey.”
The other two men moved in, crowding around her, hands reaching out. “What’s wrong with her?” and “Damn, she looks like she’s going to faint,” got said at about the same time that her vision narrowed, closing in.
The bruising male voices were tainted with alarm, and the idea that these big, rough men could be distressed over something so silly struck her.
Julie tried to shake her head and wasn’t sure if she succeeded or not. She’d never fainted in her life, and she didn’t want to faint on them now. She wasn’t a person who had fits of nerves. She was willful and headstrong and stubborn. Her father had always said so.
The world tilted, and she realized someone had scooped her up. Strange, how she felt so boneless, so empty.
“I’ve got you.” Clint’s voice seemed to come from far away, a hollow echo that swirled around her. “We’ll have you home safe and sound in no time.”
Home sounded wonderful—as long as he didn’t leave her yet. That thought brought a measure of panic that shocked her, but couldn’t be suppressed. She tried to grip him, knowing she had to tell him, that she had to explain.
“Easy. Just relax, Julie Rose.”
Clint’s mouth brushed her temple in what might have been a kiss, but was probably just an accident.
She sighed. “Okay.” Everything dimmed, darker and darker. She had to tell him now, before it was too late. “Clint?”
He bent to her. “Yes?”
It wasn’t easy, but she got the words out. “I…”
He started moving, carrying her along in his arms. “What is it, Julie Rose?”
His hold was lax, as if she weighed nothing at all. Her world tilted. “I’m not…engaged.”
Julie felt Clint pause, his arms tighten, and she faded into oblivion.
Clint sat on the floor of the minivan, her slim body partially held in his arms, her head resting on the crook of his knee. The unpaved back road was rough and rutted. She got jostled as Red drove, but she slept on.
He was starting to worry, and damn it, he didn’t want to worry. Worry was for old women and spineless men.
But she was such a small woman. Not short, but fine boned and delicate and, as he’d suspected, skinny. She had a long, elegant throat—though he’d never noticed a woman’s throat before. Now that he had noticed, he could only think of it as elegant.
Her arms were smooth, her thighs long, her rib cage narrow. His shirt hung on her, the neckline falling over her shoulder until it nearly exposed her breast again.
Sweat dampened Clint’s back. Using just his fingertips, he eased the shirt back up to her chin. He could take a lot, but he couldn’t take Julie Rose’s partial nudity. Seeing her breast once was enough. Not that he’d stared, because he wasn’t an animal. She’d been through enough without that.
But he hadn’t needed to stare. The impression of that soft, pale flesh, the small pink nipple, was burned into his brain, annoying him, stirring him on some dark, carnal level when all he should have felt was sympathy and the urge to protect.
And he did feel those things, damn it.
But he was also aware of her as a woman.
Earlier, when she’d hugged him, trusting him, he’d absorbed her femininity, the feel of her slender body in his arms, her breast, her stiffened nipple against his flesh, the way a dying man would absorb life.
She wouldn’t act so secure with him if she knew the path his mind had taken. Not that she ever would know, because no way in hell would he tell her, and he sure as certain wouldn’t act on it.
Clint cupped her cheeks, determined to keep his thoughts on the straight and narrow. His thumb brushed her jaw, hoping to revive her.
Mumbling a swear word and swatting at him, Julie Rose stirred.
Mojo turned in his seat and frowned in inquiry.
“She’s coming around.” Relieved, Clint poured a little more water on the towel and stroked her face. She’d been out too long, and he sensed it was her reluctance to face what had happened as much as any possible injury that kept her asleep. “C’mon, Julie Rose. Enough is enough, woman. Quit hiding.”
Her long, golden brown lashes fluttered, and her eyes blinked open. She stared up at him in blank confusion. Her eyes nearly crossed for a long moment before a flash of alarm made her gasp.
“It’s all right.” Clint held her still. “You’re safe, remember? I’m not about to let anyone hurt you.”
Her lips parted; her shoulders relaxed.
In the next heartbeat, she was holding him again, her arms raised so that she clasped his neck. For a woman coming out of a dead faint, she had surprising strength. Her hands slid up and locked around him, forcing him to lean closer to her.
It was the position of lovers, and Clint tried to ease away from her tenacious grip.
She didn’t allow it.
“What did you do to me?”
Giving up, Clint cuddled her closer, making her comfortable. “I saved you.” She needed to remember that.
“Yes, but afterward…What happened?” She looked at him, realized how they were embracing, and apparently decided to sit up.
“Easy.” Clint helped her, propping her against his leg. “I didn’t do anything to you, you just keeled over. Are you hurt?”
She scooted real close, so close he could smell her subtle scent. Her nails stung as she gripped his arm like a lifeline, and served a stark counterpoint to the forced calm in her expression.
“Hurt as in sore? Yes. Hurt as in damaged, no.” She looked around, jittery, uncertain, and trying real hard to hide it. “Where are we?”
Red spoke up. “In my van, heading home.”
“Where are…” She swallowed hard, squeezed closer. Her voice dropped. “Where are those men?”
Deliberately, the light inside the van was dim. Clint had wanted to give her the security of shadows to conceal her fear. He already knew that she didn’t like showing fear or upset. But earlier it had been bright, and he had seen the bruises on her pale flesh, the raw scrapes on her knees and elbows.
He pried her fingers loose and put his arm around her, hauling her into his side. She seemed to need his touch, so no one needed to know that he liked holding her.
“We had to leave them behind.”
Her eyes flared wide. “You just let them go?”
Clint didn’t want to bring up her fiancé again, or the possibility of a scandal, so he shrugged.
“Sort of. I left them to crawl into their car, which they’ve probably already done.”
Her face fell. “So they’re just getting away with…with taking me?”
“I punished them.” He stared at her steadily, making sure she understood. “I don’t normally maim people when I make a rescue. Not if I can help it.”
She bit her lips, then nodded. “And I appreciate it, I really do.”
She appreciated it? Clint didn’t know what the hell to make of that.
“But once they heal, they might…”
Cupping her cheek, Clint said, “No way would I let that happen. Mojo dicked with their engine just enough to make sure it’d only make it a few miles before it breaks down.”
“What good will that do?”
“It’ll make it easier for the cops to find them.”
“The cops are looking for them?”
Red looked at her through the rearview mirror. “They are now that I called and made an anonymous report that I saw rifles and drugs in their trunk.”
“Oh.”
“We didn’t plant them there,” Red explained.
“The bust will be legit.”
Clint smoothed away a smudge of dirt on the side of her jaw. “They’ll do some time, but you won’t have to be involved.”
Of course, Red had gathered up plenty of info first, including the registration that had been left in the car. If they managed to escape the cops, Clint knew who they were, and he’d know how to find them.
What he didn’t know was who had hired them, because they hadn’t known. They were given money and instructions by another street thug who worked for an anonymous man. Robert? Asa? Clint had no idea. And he had no way to find the one responsible. Yet.
Julie didn’t look quite convinced, so Clint added, “I didn’t think you’d want them in the van with us.”
Defeat took the tension out of her spine, and she slumped against him. “You’re right.”
He’d expected hysterics, shock. She was too composed and he didn’t like it. He wanted to keep her talking. “Do you know any of their names?”
“Just Petie.” She shivered again from saying his name. “He was the worst.”
Clint gave her a reassuring hug.
“Did you really break his jaw?”
“Yeah. I’d have done more than that if you hadn’t gone and fainted on me.”
Her eyes searched his, looking for answers. “You were worried about me?”
“Let’s just say I prioritized.” Clint had had his hands full of soft, limp woman, so he’d left the questioning to his friends. “One of them never came to.”
“Do you think he was dead?”
“No. He had a steady pulse.” She hadn’t sounded particularly upset by the prospect of death, just curious. But there was still a small frown on her brow, a look of discomfort, confusion. Clint leaned down to see her averted face.
“Julie Rose, are you—”
“I’m fine.”
Her rushed reply came a little too fast to suit him. “You don’t have to tell me any of the details if you don’t want to, but—”
“Us.”
“What?”
She glanced at him, at the front seat of the van where Mojo and Red sat, then down at her lap. She curled her legs under the skirt of her tattered gown. “There are three of you,” she emphasized in a low tone, “and they’re certainly close enough to hear, so anything I say would be to all of you. The proper pronoun would be us, plural.”
He supposed that was the teacher in her coming out.
After that small lecture, she avoided his gaze. “Do you want to introduce me to your friends? I don’t even know some of their names yet.”
To Clint’s speculative eye, she looked a little woozy, in pain, and God knew she was babbling. But she’d awakened as easily as she’d passed out.
And he was still worried.
Clint propped his back against the side of the van and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Why not? It’s not like we’ve got more important stuff to talk about.”
She glared at him, pleasing him with her gumption.
“The driver is Red, and the man staring at you is Mojo.”
As if they’d known each other a long time, Julie cuddled comfortably into his side. Her tangled, shoulder-length hair tickled Clint’s skin as she nestled her head against his chest. He noticed she had a couple of broken fingernails when she rested one slim hand across his bare abdomen. When she turned her body toward him, her thigh half covered his.
Damn. She was crawling onto him, getting under his skin so fast that it made his head swim.
To distract himself, Clint stared down at her exposed ankles and bare dirty feet.
“Red and Mojo? But what are your real names?”
Red chuckled while maneuvering through the dark night. Clint knew he hadn’t missed a thing, that he was aware of little Julie Rose holding on to him for dear life. But Red would never make her uncomfortable by mentioning it.
“Oh, no.” Red shook his head. “Forget it. You don’t need to know my real name.”
Mojo muttered, “Hell, I don’t even remember mine anymore.”
Julie smiled. It was an amazing sight, that small, sweet smile.
Her fingertips absently curled against Clint’s skin in a discreet caress that about made him nuts. “So Mojo and Red, I suppose I owe you my thanks also. Your timing was a little off—I mean, a few hours earlier would have been better—but still, you did get me away before they could do what they really wanted to do, and I’m eternally grateful.”
“What did they really want to do?”
She frowned at Clint. “Don’t growl at me.”
“Answer me, Julie Rose.”
Rolling her eyes, then quickly turning her face down so that her false bravado couldn’t be unmasked, she said, “They wanted to…rape me.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “They said so enough.”
“They told you they were going to rape you?”
“Yes, after they got the money. Then they’d have killed me. They told me that, too.” She drew a breath and deliberately lightened her tone.
“But thanks to all of you, their plans were routed.”
The men shared a look of understanding. Red spoke first. “We’re glad we could help.”
Julie held silent for a long moment. “Do you do this for a living, then? Run around rescuing people, I mean.”
Clint felt aggrieved. There were things they needed to ask her, things they needed to know. She was dirty, bruised. She’d fainted. And she wanted to indulge in chitchat. “Julie Rose—”
Without lifting her head from his shoulder, she tipped her face up to him. “Why do you keep calling me by my first and last name? Just Julie will do. I mean, you’re my champion, right?” She gave a nervous little laugh. “We should be on a first name basis.”
He liked her name, and he liked her. However, keeping an emotional distance was necessary, and he could help accomplish that by not getting too friendly.
When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Clint dropped his head back against the side of the van and closed his eyes. Why the hell was she so chatty?
Julie nudged him. “Did any of you get hurt?”
Clint squeezed her to let her know that was something of an insulting question. He decided to get things back on track. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
Red again spied her in the rearview mirror, and he smiled. “We’ll be on the main road in another ten minutes. I’ll pull into a fast-food place and get you something. Anything in particular sound good?”
“Yes. Whatever you see first. That sounds perfect.” She smiled at Clint. “Do you see how I’m actually answering questions, not just ignoring them? It’s easy enough to do. I’m sure you could manage if you try.”
Clint’s eyes widened. She’d just chastised him, and her efforts at subtlety were absurd. “I have questions,” he told her, and though he didn’t mean to, he frowned.
Julie nodded. “Okay, but we’ll take turns.” She peeked up at him. “I suppose you’ll insist on going first?”
Mojo snickered.
Because it was important, Clint tipped her face up. He could read the truth of her words in her dark, expressive eyes. “Are you hurt?”
“I already told you no.” Again, that answer came too fast.
He opened his hand on the side of her face, tunneling his fingers into her baby-fine hair. He wanted to spare her as much as possible, so he leaned down until his forehead touched hers and spoke very softly, for her ears only. “You have a lot of scrapes and bruises, Julie Rose. If you need a doctor, we can take you—”
Her doe eyes darkened even more, and her breath came low and fast. “You still think they raped me.”
The question had to be forced out of Clint’s tight throat. “Did they?”
She shook her head hard. “No.”
“Julie…”
“No, they didn’t,” she insisted. “They would have, but they hadn’t yet. They…” She looked around, saw that Mojo and Red were pretending to pay no attention. “They touched me,” she whispered. “And hurt me. Just to be mean, just to scare me…”
The rage was unbearable, but Clint kept his hold on her light and easy. Without conscious decision, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I should have killed them.”
She bit her lip, nodded. “You could have. I mean, you’re capable of killing, right?”
Lying to her would be pointless. “Yes.”
“You’ve killed before?”
In the military, he had. But he didn’t want to frighten her, so he said nothing.
“We agreed,” she reminded him with a nudge.
“I answered questions, and now it’s your turn.”
He shook his head at her.
“Is that a no, you haven’t killed, or no, you won’t answer?”
“That was a sign of exasperation, actually.”
“Oh.” She looked thoughtful. “Do you always throw up after you’ve hurt someone?”
Christ. Clint heard Mojo muttering, Red chuckling. The woman had been kidnapped, held captive, abused and bruised, and all she wanted to do was ask questions.
If he’d measured his words more carefully before he spoke, then maybe he wouldn’t have sounded so defensive. “It has nothing to do with guilt, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her arched brows lifted. “Oh? Then why do you get sick?”
Assuming she needed to talk, that she needed the distraction of mundane conversation, Clint explained. But he felt stupid doing it. “I have a bad stomach.”
Her expression softened. “And a big heart.”
That was too absurd to deserve a response. More often than not, the descriptions given him included “heartless” at the very top of the list.
Her hand trembled when she touched his jaw. “I might have died if it wasn’t for you.”
Clint tended to agree. What they needed to find out now was who the hell wanted her dead, and why.
Mojo cleared his throat. “Want me to check her now?”
Alarm stiffened Julie’s fragile body. Clint soothed her, stroked her. “Mojo has medical training. The way you fainted has us all concerned. If you say there’s no need for a doctor, well, that’s up to you. But we’ve got a long night ahead of us and we’ll all feel better if you let him check you over, just to make sure.”
She tucked her face into his neck. Her breath was hot, her words muffled against his flesh. “No offense, Mr. Mojo, but I don’t think so.”
Clint met Mojo’s questioning gaze and nodded. Mojo wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he needed to talk to her, to reassure her.
Mojo gave in with a frown so black, it would’ve scared grown men. His tone, however, was soft and gentle and coaxing.
“Just Mojo, no mister to it. I’ll be painless. I need to see if you have a concussion, if you have any breaks.”
“No one hit my head, and you already saw me walk.”
Red said, “No, ma’am. You stood up, but then you fainted without taking a single step.”
Her head lifted with a startled expression. “That’s right.” And then to Clint, “How did I get to this van?”
“I carried you.”
Her brow puckered. “I don’t remember it.”
“That’s because you fainted, which is why Mojo needs to look you over.”
“How far?”
“What?”
“How far did you have to carry me?”
Clint huffed. “You have more damn questions than—”
“And you never answer me.”
Red laughed outright, while Mojo struggled to hide his smile.
Clint worked his jaw. “Not far, all right?”
At about the same time, Mojo said, “Close to two miles.”
Julie’s plain face looked adorable in her astonishment. “Two miles! You’re kidding.”
For a closed-mouthed bastard, Mojo was suddenly full of confidences. “A rough two miles. Woods, weeds, roots. Not much moon, so the path was hard to see—”
Clint thought about slugging Mojo. He silenced him with a look, then turned his attention to Julie Rose. “You don’t weigh a thing. It was no big deal.”
Even in the dim light of the van, Clint could see her blush. She fidgeted and then nodded to Mojo. “All right, you may check me.” Her body pressed closer to Clint’s. “But be quick about it.”
Clint started to move out of the way, but no more than an inch separated them before Julie wrapped herself around him. She moved so fast, he had no choice but to sit back and hold her. She settled in his lap—and she felt very right there.
Mojo indicated that it was okay, for Clint to just stay put so she wouldn’t get more upset. They both wondered if Julie was still a little in shock. She was too rigid, jumpy, alternately silent and then chatty.
And she hadn’t mentioned her fiancé again since renouncing him.
After Mojo climbed into the back of the van with them, he pulled a narrow flashlight from his pocket.
Clint nudged Julie’s chin with the edge of his fist. “He needs you to look at him a moment, Julie Rose.”
She swiveled her head toward Mojo—while pressing closer to Clint.
Though she tried to hide it, Clint was aware of the tension rippling through her. He wished he could spare her, but they needed to see that she wasn’t seriously injured, and they needed her to answer some important questions.
Red hit a hole in the road, and she jerked hard, startled beyond reason. Clint rubbed her back, her narrow shoulders, helping to ease her. Her softness drew him. Her vulnerability drew him. Her scent drove him nuts.
Mojo ignored the telltale reaction that proved her calm a facade. He took her wrist and checked her pulse rate, then slid his fingers around her wrist, her elbow. “Can you move your arms and legs okay?”
With him guiding her, she obediently flexed each arm. But when she went to rotate her right foot, she gasped, then quickly tried to cover it up. “Oh, it’s a little sore. But not bad.”
No one believed her.
Mojo touched her ankle, his brow furrowed with concentration as he pressed and probed. Julie grimaced, and her breath hissed out.
Sitting back on his heels, Mojo shook his head. “It’s swollen. Not broken, I don’t think. Probably just a sprain, but I can’t be sure without an X ray.” He looked at Clint. “Should wrap it in some ice as soon as we can and we’ll see if the swelling goes down. No walking.”
“I must have twisted it when I…” Her voice again trailed off. Clint noticed that despite her chattiness, she had a very hard time relating anything that had happened at the cabin. She’d have to talk about it sooner or later, if for no other reason than to clear away the demons.
He wanted her to confide in him.
The urge to reassure her, to comfort her, was strong. But he was only the man hired to retrieve her, not her confessor, not her lover.
Not her fiancé.
Then again, Julie Rose didn’t need to share details for them to understand. They’d done more than one rescue, and each of them could visualize what she’d been through, how the bastards had mistreated her.
She said she hadn’t been raped, and Clint hoped like hell that was true. But sometimes women denied it out of a sense of unwarranted shame. If Julie Rose had been sexually abused, then all bets were off. He didn’t care that his role in her life ended the minute he turned her back over to Robert. No way would he let it end without first finding all four of them again—and gaining his own retribution.
He made a sudden decision and didn’t give himself a chance to reconsider. “Julie Rose, we can do one of two things here.”
Her eyes were huge and watchful. An anticipatory stillness settled over Mojo and Red.
“We can call your fiancé and drive straight through. The two of you can decide what you want to do.”
Red snorted and Mojo stirred restlessly.
Personally, Clint hated that idea, too, so he offered the next solution before she could give the first much thought. “Or we can stop for the night, and you can tell me anything you remember about those bastards. It’s possible Red, Mojo, and I can figure out why you were taken, and who was behind it.”
Julie bit her lip. Her chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths. “You’ll keep me safe?”
“You have my word.”
She nodded, rubbed at her tired eyes. “Let’s stop for the night, please.”