Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes Book 1) (5 page)

“Why are you standing there?” he
asked, his demeanor still tough and unrelenting.

I huffed. This guy was the
worst communicator
ever
. “I’m just waiting to leave, Cowboy.”

His fingers paused over
the screen of his phone. He looked at me, a confused expression
passing over his ridiculously handsome face before he finally
spoke. “Blondie, it’s after 6 p.m. Where we’re going is a 12 hour
drive. We’re not going anywhere tonight. Go turn on some
Real Housewives
or some
shit, and make yourself comfortable. We leave at first light.” He
jerked his chin toward the front window, where early evening light
was still streaming in.

First light?
Who talks like this?

I felt the anger seep up from my core
and expel itself from my mouth. “You’re kidding, right? You bark at
me to pack a bag and then tell me we’re not even leaving ‘til
tomorrow?”

Duke pocketed the phone and I saw a
little bit of amusement dance in his eyes as if he’d found a button
to push. “Yes, that’s right. First light comes early and I wanted
you to be ready.”

“You are unbelievable!” I yelled at
him, turning on my heel, heading back to my room to
sulk.

I heard him snort. “You got a big ol’
bed, don’t you? Got room for me?”

I stopped in my tracks at his words.
“What?”

He smirked at me but said
nothing.

“You’re kidding, right?” I pointed at
the couch. “Hope you like that.” My eyes moved from his too-big
feet to the top of his brown hair. “Because it looks like you’re
couching it tonight.”

I stomped to my bedroom and slammed
the door behind me.

Special Agent – were they
for real? This guy was like a comedic parody of a special agent.
Someone you’d see on TV
pretending
to be one. Like some slapstick television show
about guys who were just paid to act like special agents. Larger
than life, that Duke.

And he’s got the Hollywood
good looks to go with it
, my subconscious
snarked at me.

“Shut up,” I said aloud.

Mad at myself for even caring, I went
to my linen closet and pulled out a blanket and pillow and exited
the bedroom. Instead of throwing them at him like I wanted to, I
calmly placed them on the oversized armchair next to the couch. I
briefly caught his eyes and he almost seemed… grateful.
Almost.

Chapter 7

Duke

Was she for real with this
Barbie-sized couch? Who, in their right mind, would buy something
like this? It looked like it came from some high-end store and
belonged in a showroom, not in a real, live living room. I looked
around and didn’t see any sort of recliner or La-Z-Boy like I had
at home to watch football. There was just the red suede sofa and
loveseat, and some small, uncomfortable looking armchair, all
perched on wooden legs I hoped could hold my weight. I shrugged out
of my jacket and duty belt and laid them on the small chair.
Pulling the handgun from its holster, I checked to ensure it was
loaded and ready. I grabbed the pillow and blanket from the fancy
chair she’d set them on and tried to lie down on the longer of the
two sofas. I definitely didn’t fit and they weren’t going to be
very comfortable, but I told myself I needed to get some shut-eye
in preparation for the long drive ahead of us tomorrow. I’d slept
sitting up in the middle of a sand-pit in the freezing cold in
Afghanistan more times than I could count so I could deal with
half-sitting-sleeping. I tucked the gun under the
pillow.

God, that drive tomorrow was going to
suck. My leg was starting to ache and I hoped that it wasn’t worse
when I awoke tomorrow. I hadn’t bothered to check to see if that
little sports car they’d given me had cruise control but I prayed
it did. I was going to need it if this leg acted up on that damned
drive. Absentmindedly, I reached down and rubbed the scar. Part of
me wondered if it really did hurt or I was having some sort of
phantom pain. After all, the doctors had hauled me into surgery
immediately upon arriving at the hospital in Germany…

“Sergeant Hawthorne, I
need you to calm down. I’m going to help you, but if you keep
swinging and thrashing, I’m going to have to sedate you. I cannot
help you if you don’t calm down.”

“Motherfucker, I’ve got a
fucking piece of metal sticking out of my fucking leg. I cannot
calm the fuck down, and if you don’t get it out, I’m gonna kill
something, starting with you!”

“Hawthorne, come on, you
can’t talk to an officer like that. Man up, guy,” Ellis Anderson
says to me, his jaw ticking with annoyance as he glances
apologetically at the military doctor who has been trying to calm
me.

I’m writhing in agony. I’d
passed out on the battlefield and awoken in the chopper – and had
apparently been making everyone’s life a living hell since. I keep
trying to tell myself to grit my teeth and bear it but I’ve never
felt such pain. I’d welcome them chopping my leg off at this point
if it would make the pain stop.

“It’s okay,” the doctor
replies to Anderson. He looks to be in his early 50s. He wore
scrubs the same color as his wise, golden eyes. The name
embroidered on his scrubs top tells me he’s Navy – the
highest-ranking you could go. I really wanted to care, to be
respectful, but I just couldn’t muster up enough fucks to
give.

“Could you cut the small
talk and do something about this?” I grit out, pointing to the
large piece of metal that had shredded my now bloody camo pants and
was protruding from my thigh.

“Absolutely,” the doctor
replies with a smile. The last thing I see is a large needle coming
at my arm, and then there is nothing but the blessed
blackness.

The smell of coffee woke me and I
blinked a few times, wondering where I was. I had a crick in my
neck that made me groan, and when I saw the red furniture and fancy
rug covering the hardwood floors, I remembered where I was.
Instinctively, I reached for my gun under the pillow. I breathed a
little easier when my hand closed around my piece.

Stretching my neck out, my head
swiveled until I caught sight of the vic. She was in the kitchen
with her back to me, pouring coffee into two ceramic mugs. She had
on a pair of jeans that left nothing to the imagination and some
sort of pink shirt. She was also barefoot. Probably a rule in this
museum she calls a condo.

She turned around and carried both
mugs over to me, carefully setting one on the fancy glass end-table
near my feet. She then sat on the red chair and crossed her legs
all girl-like.

I eyed the cup and my stomach rumbled.
I needed to eat but coffee was a good start. I picked up the mug
and it felt good between my cold hands.

Taking a speculative sip, I watched as
steam curled up from her mug as she brought it to her plump, pink
lips. She said nothing, just watched me with her legs
crossed.

“I think we got off to a bad start
yesterday,” she finally said.

Eyeing her but saying nothing, I
continued to hold the hot mug in my hand as I stared at
her.

Rayanne cleared her throat. “I didn’t
mean to be rude when you first came in, I just didn’t expect you to
come in with guns blazing like that.”

I took a sip of the coffee. It was hot
and bitter, just the way I liked it. I had no response for what
she’d said, so I got up and tossed the blanket back onto the
couch.

“We’re leaving in 30 minutes, so be
sure you’re packed,” I said, heading toward the bathroom with my
coffee to shower and drain the main vein.

I smiled when I heard her sigh in
exasperation.

After my shower, I got dressed in the
bathroom and picked up my phone when it chirped.

Jack-N-Jill:
You on the road yet, big guy?

I shook my head. This whole
Cloak-And-Dagger bullshit was already on my nerves. I didn’t know
why they couldn’t tell me which agent was in charge of texting me.
They said it was for all of our safety, and that the computer they
used to send the texts was highly encrypted and untraceable. I knew
all the special agents and investigative research specialists that
worked in the “bat cave”, as we called it, where all the
super-secret computers were, but I had no idea if it was any of
them sending the messages.

I replied:
Will be in 10. I’ll text when we get to our first
stop.

Jack-N-Jill:
Very good.

I packed up my toothbrush, comb, and
razor after I was done with them, along with yesterday’s clothes
I’d slept in, and shoved them into my bag. As I exited the
bathroom, Rayanne was waiting by the front door wearing some
slip-on shoes and had a light jacket draped over her arm. One large
suitcase sat at her feet and she had a small purse slung over her
slender shoulder. She stared at me with a blank expression and I
bit back a smile. She was waiting by the door like a good
girl.

This one catches on
quickly.

I moved past her, grabbed her
suitcase, and opened the front door and looked both ways down her
hallway with my gun drawn. I saw the coast was clear so I went into
the hall. She followed behind me, and I turned around and said,
“Lock the door.”

She nodded and did as she was told. We
used a side emergency exit that led to the back of the massive
condo complex. I disarmed the little sports car. It didn’t seem to
have much of a trunk, but thankfully her little red suitcase and my
camo duffel fit fine back there.

She stood by the car, still staring at
me with that blank expression. I used my key to point at the
passenger door, already annoyed. “What are you waiting for? Get in.
We have a long drive.”

Looking a bit offended but saying
nothing, she slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. I
got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I knew the FBI
would make me leave my cell at the vic’s house, so I’d printed out
specific instructions from my work computer before I’d left. This
whole paper map thing was gonna suck ass. I was beyond spoiled with
technology.

Remind me never to slam a suspect’s
face into the pavement again. This whole Witness Protection detail
was for the motherfuckin’ birds. I’ll be glad when this is
over.

The map told me I have to cross over
the bridge again to reach the interstate, so I headed toward it.
The view was just as breathtaking as it was yesterday, and I put my
sunglasses on to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun’s rays on
the water. I glanced briefly over at the vic, and she also had her
sunglasses on, her hand up to her pouty lips as she stared out the
window. She looked deep in thought, and I looked away. I’d been
kind of a dick to her, but she’d rubbed me the wrong way from the
moment I met her. Was that her fault? Maybe. I guess if I had a hit
out on me I might be a little jumpy and testy too. Plus, she was
way too easy on the eyes, from her blonde head to her red painted
toenails. Not cool. I didn’t need that type of
distraction.

I found the freeway entrance easily
enough, and once the little car was cruising along at the speed
limit, I set the cruise control to ease the pain in my leg. I
quickly flipped on the radio to fill the deafening silence. Some
sort of classic rock station was playing and Rayanne looked at the
radio, then at me. Before I could ask her what she wanted to listen
to, her head turned back to face the window and she continued to
gaze out of it.

“You can listen to whatever you want.
The quiet makes me crazy so I just needed to find something,” I
said, not sure why I felt the need to justify my
actions.

She glanced at me again and said,
“It’s fine, Duke. I don’t care what we listen to.”

I could immediately tell that was a
lie. She probably hated the radio station I’d chosen, and if she
wanted to lie, well then she could deal with it. I leaned over and
turned it up louder.

Once again glancing at the radio, she
then looked at me through her sunglasses. “Where are you taking me,
anyway?”

I threw her a smirk and ran my hand
over my beard. “I can’t tell you that, Blondie. Top secret and all
that.”

“I see,” she replied. She then quickly
snatched the paper from my lap and studied it. “Pembroke, Virginia?
Seriously?”

I grabbed it out of her hand, more
pissed off at myself than her for not keeping the paper in my
pocket. “I’m gonna have to take your cell phone now that you know
where we’re headed.” I held out my hand, but she didn’t
move.

Instead, she scoffed and continued to
look out the window. “There’s no data on my phone, and as you can
see, I’m not texting or calling anyone, so maybe you should calm
the hell down and stop acting so cryptic, Cowboy. Besides, it’s in
the trunk.”

Who does this chick think she is? Does
she have no regard for her life? Doesn’t she know I’m supposed to
be protecting her? She’s acting like I’m some sort of intrusion in
her life, like she didn’t ask for this detail.

As the small car headed
toward the interstate and began cruising at a comfortable but
boring speed, I thought – maybe she
hadn’t
asked for this. Maybe she
didn’t want this. But why not? Yes, it’s an intrusion, but if the
government hadn’t intervened, she might already be dead by
now.
Dead.
That’s
not an option. Glancing at her though the corner of my eye, her
face gazing out of her window, I grew frustrated that I couldn’t
get a good read on her.