What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,34
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.”