Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 (12 page)

“Here’s our turn,” he said, pulling the Pontiac off to the right and slowing for a stop sign. He copied Eva’s sideways glance, turning to take in her outfit. “You look great,” he said quietly, and immediately wanted a do-over, to frame it more articulately, with a soupçon of romance if at all possible, but she grinned happily and he considered the compliment well-delivered after all.

“Thanks, you do too. It must be hard to find shirts that fit as well as that.”
Crap, too much?

Zack loved it. “Well, that’s twenty agonizing minutes in front of my mirror well spent.”

“I see your twenty and raise you ten more,” she said, and the two laughed together at the unavoidable conventions of ‘date night’, . . . “And that was just my hair.”
Fishing now, are we?
Eva shushed her avid self-critic and tried to relax.

“I do like auburn,” Zack said tentatively. “With your complexion it’s . . .”

“Insanely pretty?” she tried, and then nudged him in the ribs.

“Insanely, yeah. That, or a little more.” Eva smiled beautifully, shyly, a winsome look which could melt any man’s heart and stir his desires. Zack found that he loved Eva’s cute half-confidence, her down-home ‘aw shucks’ pragmatism. Not to mention her invitingly curvy shape in that gorgeous purple dress.
At ease, Petty Officer Norcross; just drive the damned car.

Both were aware, though, as the Pontiac was steered neatly into a parking spot behind the little restaurant, that their banter was a flirty façade to avoid talking about Hank, or Grayson, or goddamned drugs gangs. This wasn’t the night for earthly cares, but for some heavenly Thai entrees and the chance to unselfconsciously laugh. Just to be together for a while.

If she had been a betting girl, Eva would have laid money on what happened next. “Mister Norcro’?” said the bubbly, animated proprietor as they were being seated. “You still fight Muay Thai, yes?”

“I’m surprised you remember,” Zack answered mildly. “Eva, I want you to meet Khun Klerkkiat,” he said, using the formal Thai moniker, “sponsor of Texas’ only Thai boxing team which actually has
Thai
boxers in it”.

“Must be the best,” Eva said, extending her hand and receiving a kiss from Mr. K, as any non-Thai speaker knew him.

“No’ better than Khun Norcro’,” he said, waving a cautionary finger. His accent took a moment to grasp, infused as it was with the abruptly chopped word-endings of Thai English and the song-like, tonal style of Thai itself. “Khun Norcro’ beat many Thai boxer. You wan’ special shrim’ starter? On da how’ for Khun Norcro’,” he said, waving to his staff without waiting for an answer. He then left the couple and effusively welcomed two more guests to his tiny eatery.

“What was that last thing he said?” Eva asked, finding Mr. K, and the restaurant, just delightful.

“He said the shrimp would be on the house,” Zack answered, somewhat embarrassed by the unavoidable attention his achievements so often brought.

“But didn’t he say you beat up his fighters?” Eva said.

“
Beat
,” Zack corrected, “not
beat up
. In Muay Thai you can win without really hurting the other guy. If you know what you’re doing.” He smiled as he remembered the wild party after the bout, some eight years ago now. “That was before I was a SEAL,” he recalled. “I thought those guys were going to take me apart.”

Their promised starter arrived, sizzling hotly, and Zack politely slid the succulent shrimp off their skewer and onto Eva’s plate. “You seemed to understand his crazy accent,” she observed. “Have you travelled in Asia?”

Just give her the broad strokes and lie about the rest.
“Yeah, a little. I did a circuit through South-East Asia when I was about 20, on leave after my first shipboard tour.”

“Wow, I’d love to travel like that,” Eva told him. “So much variety and local culture.” She ate a shrimp and was quiet for a moment as the fusion of chili, ginger and lemongrass elevated the shellfish beyond simply delicious. “Wow.” Zack watched her enjoy the starter with evident satisfaction. “It’s just good to know,” she said, stabbing another shrimp with her fork, “that the whole world isn’t just like Illinois.”

“It sure ain’t just like Sutherland, Texas, I’m glad to report.”

“I like it around here,” Eva countered. “It’s got charm. It’s not trying to be anything it’s not.”

Two beers arrived, a crisp Thai lager recommended by Mr. K. “It used to be a lot more,” Zack told her. “Has anyone shown you the ruins of the old spa pools and the hotel?”

“Spa? Like healing baths?”

“The place was a tourist magnet for decades,” Zack explained. “They ran a rail line through here and people from the east would come and bathe in the waters. Reckoned they cured most anything, but who knows for sure?”

“What happened to it all?”

“Well,” Zack said as their plates were cleared, “a new rail line started to take people across country and they kinda stopped coming. Then there was a huge flood in 1913,” he said, “and it ruined the spa pools and just about devastated the town.”

“That’s a real shame,” Eva said genuinely. “It’d be good if there was a draw here for tourists these days.”

Zack shook his head a little sorrowfully. “Not any more. But, these are tough, honest people and they’ll make it work.”

A big bowl of pad Thai noodles and a green jungle curry arrived. “What about you? What brought you back here?”

Zack shrugged. “Habit, I guess. My grand folks were born here, my folks too. Aunt Kathy was on the town council for, I don’t know, most of my lifetime. I’ve always thought of Sutherland as home, wherever I was based.”

 “It must have been hard.” Eva imagined the insecurity of not knowing when you might be shipped off to the other side of the world. And not as a tourist, but as someone knowingly placed in harm’s way.

“I learned a lot,” he said simply. “Now, I have family as my excuse for being here. What’s yours?”

Eva finished her mouthful and sat back, as full as she planned to get. “My family sent me here, in a way. Trish is the closest thing to a sister I have, and sometimes you just need that, you know?” Zack nodded sympathetically. “I don’t want to bore you, though.”

“Sum it up for me,” he asked encouragingly, taking another small sip of his beer. “And, what’s your tattoo, there?”

Eva turned her forearm to show him a small, black ‘peace’ tattoo inside her right wrist. “All the girls in my dance squad got them, like our unofficial mascot.”

“Right on,” the ex-soldier smiled. “So, you’re from Illinois?”

“Chicago was great, when it wasn’t too cold. My father is an asshole,” she said, immediately turning to make sure she hadn’t been overheard. “My brother, well, you know more than enough about him. I was seeing this guy and that kinda fell apart. And one day I just thought, ‘Why the hell not?’ and got in my car. A few days later I was here, giving Trish a big hug and then wondering about this tall, handsome stranger who was watching baseball on our couch.”

“It was a much better couch with you on it,” he said and laughed, bringing a genuine happiness to Eve’s smile. Then their eyes met and the touch of awkwardness was eased away. Seconds passed. Eva fell deeply into the calm and compassion his eyes expressed; her heart fluttered and that familiar warmth spread downward. Neither felt the need to say anything.

“You wan’ ay’ cree’?” Mr. K was determined to shower these particular guests with as much hospitality as he could.

“I’m sorry?” asked Eva, finally pulling her eyes away from Zack’s.

“Ice cream,” her date translated. “I don’t think so, Mr. K”. “Yeah,” she said slowly.

“Ready for the check, if you are.”

As they left, Eva felt Zack’s hand slip into hers for the short walk to the car. “He knows how to look after his clientele,” Zack offered. “Great curry, too, wasn’t it?”

“Best meal I’ve had in a long time,” Eva said honestly. “I hope it’s a success. If he doesn’t serve Bud on tap and there aren’t any TVs showing sports, I worry how long the local public will keep him open.”

Zack kissed her hand. “Oh, they’re a little more sophisticated than you give them credit for,” he assured her, sliding behind the wheel and starting the huge engine. “Not much, but a little.”

Eva quizzed him about his travels in Asia on their ride back, about the temples he’d visited in Cambodia, the life-changing meditation retreat in a monastery in Laos, and the extraordinary beaches of Vietnam. “I’ve got to get there, before it changes too much,” she said. “There’s so much of the world I haven’t seen.”
Want to offer to squire me around, maybe as my tour-guide / travel buddy / boyfriend?
For ten quiet seconds she let herself daydream of being gently taken by him while warm waves crashed around them. Soft sand under her toes, soothing water all around, this wonderfully muscular man on top of her, her slender legs wrapped around him, imagining his perfect hardness thrusting in and out . . .

“
Chez vous
, mademoiselle Evaline.”
Oh shit,
she thought, returning to reality with a thud
. Wow, even his French accent is pretty decent.
“I had a really great time tonight,” he found himself being the first to say.

“Me too. It’s been a while since I went on a date. I hope I wasn’t too weird.”

Zack chuckled once more.
It’s so easy to laugh with her.
“No, just weird enough.”

There were lights on inside the house. “Trish and Tyler must have wrapped up date night already,” Eva commented, just the hint of disappointment in her voice.
Should I ask if we could go to his place instead?
Her moral compass fell silent.
What if he asks?
Still nothing.
What if he kisses me?

He kissed her, just gently, on her cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow, if I may?”

Eva regained her composure and said, “Yes, you certainly may.” Zack smiled and waved as he drove away. “Certainly,” she said again, to herself, as she found herself smiling with her first true happiness in months.

Chapter 8 – Panic

By sunrise, Hank had been awake for twenty-six hours straight and was as taut as piano wire. Nervously rubbing his eyes, he checked the clock, then one window and the other, for seemingly the thousandth time. In his haste to leave the roadside motel near Sutherland, Hank had nearly forgotten his wallet and keys, and had turned out of the parking lot with literally no idea where he was going. Now, after a sleepless night, endless coffee and cans of Red Bull, and some of the darkest, most self-pitying thoughts of his life, Hank’s tired eyes were scanning the tiny apartment, within the relative safety of an RV park outside of Seguin.

He knew that he couldn’t flee too far from Eva, and help. He
needed
to call her, once the hour was decent, and had run through the conversation a hundred times. He would apologize, blame the stress of his dangerous situation, promise never to do it again. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of actually
hitting
her. There had been a flash of satisfaction, but then a tonnage of remorse so weighty and overwhelming that he’d considered putting his gun to his temple. But he lacked the guts even for that.

Finding himself traveling north, Hank had Googled around and found some inconspicuous places to stay, choosing the one furthest from the road and, he prayed, from trouble. If anyone found him here, he would be ready. It would be kill or be killed, he knew, and he had become prepared – at least, he told himself – to fire the old revolver which he cradled on his lap as he waited out this long, terrible night. Death or jail; there was no true choice there, Hank knew.

He had already settled into the apartment before thought processes kicked in. How had Curt found him? Did they have someone working at the motel? That was unlikely, Hank rationalized; it was a remote and unassuming place, far from the interests of a professional drug gang. His phone, then? Cursing himself for not tossing it sooner, he simply switched it off, resolving to ditch it from his moving car once he cleared out, to wherever it would be. Or maybe his car? Some kind of tracking device? He tore the vehicle apart, illuminated only by a flashlight held between his teeth, and found nothing. It was enough to send a man stark raving mad.

He rubbed his eyes again and decided to call. The worst that could happen was that Eva would refuse to pick up. No, he thought as he contemplated the near future yet again; the worst would be if she had already called the police, and they had called around the hotels and motels and . . . RV parks. They could be here any minute.

He shook the thought away and dialed his sister’s number. “Evie?”

“My face hurts like
shit
.” Her voice was sleepy, but mostly she sounded absolutely furious.

“Sis, I’m so sorry. I really am. I’ll never forgive myself.” He waited, cringing at the thought that his sister might find forgiveness equally hard.

Eva exhaled slowly. “Where are you?”

“I had to clear out of the motel,” he explained in a rush. “Someone tossed my room, looking for money or, . . . I don’t know, they just turned it upside down and I had to go.”

“Are you hurt? Do you have any money?”

“No, I got away without them finding me. And I have a few dollars for today, maybe tomorrow. Oh, Sis, this is just killing me.” The sadness and desperation in his voice was real. He was a man at the end of his rope, driven close to insanity by the fear of capture, torture and death. It pained him to an even deeper level that his sweet sister was involved now, but what could he do?

“I got us some help,” she said simply.

“Who?” he asked, suddenly very wary. “Who, the
cops
?”

“A friend of a friend who deals professionally with the kind of
people
you’ve been associating with. And you’re going to talk to him.”

“Evie, no!” he wailed. “If I’m busted, they’ll
slaughter
me in prison. And if they even know I’ve
talked
to a cop, none of us will be safe, Evie.
None
of us.”

“You let me worry about that.” From the sounds on the line, Eva felt certain her brother was crying. “Once you’re helping my friend with some information, he’ll be able to guarantee your safety.”

Hank was sobbing. “Forget it, Evie,” he sniffed. “I’d rather put a gun in my mouth right now than talk to some
pig
. You’ve got me all wrong.”

She snapped. “
Listen
, you
unbelievable
moron! We need the cops to take down this gang, right? Then you’ll be safe, and that’s the
only
way it’s going to happen. The more you help them, the safer you’ll be.”

Hank was silent for a long time. “It’s hopeless, Sis. Hopeless.”

“Don’t talk like that. Just get in your car and come to the bakery. I’ll be there from 9. We’ll talk, and I’ll put you in touch with my friend.”

“I can’t . . .” He was gaining some control of himself. “Curt’s there, in Sutherland. If he sees me, or my car, or you . . .”

“No one’s going to mess with me today. Besides, we think we know what this guy’s driving. You said his name’s Curt?”

“Yeah, he’s a muscle man for Vincent, the big cheese in San Antonio. They’ve sent him to bring me in.”

“Well he’s not bringing you anywhere. Straighten yourself out and get in your car. Take the back roads. I’ll see you at Cheryl’s.”

Eva ended the call and flopped on the bed, her heart aching with pity, confusion and sheer rage. After her date, with her mind as settled as it had been since her move, Eva began to feel the good things which had come from sharing this crazy, warped situation with people she trusted. Zack’s reaction had been beyond perfect, she thought with a warm glow, and this let her finally open up to Trish and Tyler as they opened a bottle of Jim Beam and talked it all out until the small hours.

Although Tyler had wanted simply to track down and beat up her cowering brother, Eva had found herself taking Trish’s advice: take deep breaths, consider the situation from the outside, and remember that family
is
family, no matter what stupidity, pain and danger they brought to your life.

Ultimately, though, she had taken Hank’s panicked call because of Zack. He would protect them both, she knew, and Grayson seemed to offer the only safe way out for Hank, the only
real
solution. She just had to be patient. And maybe a little lucky.

***

Zack had been at his accustomed table for twenty minutes when the grey sedan made its first pass. He double checked the license plates and noticed, once more, the short crew-cut of the driver, a man in his early 40s perhaps, relatively heavy-set. The takeout coffee cup he held was from the diner at the gas station outside of town, towards the highway which led to San Antonio, so Zack could surmise he hadn’t taken a room in Sutherland. And now he had a name: Curt.

Although he’d never show it, Zack was furious with Eva’s impromptu plan to meet Hank here at Cheryl’s. He felt that it endangered everyone and could lead, in the worst case scenario, to a gangland shootout in the middle of a tiny, rural town, two hundred yards from a
school
, for God’s sake. He had kept these concerns to himself, resolving - with an iron determination - to protect her as best he could.

A shifty, lanky-haired character walked into the shop, glancing all around and behind as he did. Zack watched him intently from behind his morning paper. He wore a dark-green overcoat and muddied sneakers, his jeans were torn at the knees, and his worried face was unshaven and furrowed. Hank approached the counter and nervously muttered something to Cheryl, whose normally bright demeanor turned suspicious and sour within seconds. She looked the crumpled visitor in the eye, poured him a coffee and bid him wait on one of the barstools which surrounded the counter. Zack watched Cheryl dry her hands and bustle into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Zack said as he took the stool next to Hank’s.

“Hey, buddy,” the harassed man said distractedly. He smelled of coffee and something else, the cloying scent of energy drinks.

“You, er . . . You got a permit for that?” Zack asked quietly enough that none of the half dozen customers might overhear.

“Huh?” Hank looked up, confusion on his stress-scarred face. “Permit for what?”

“A concealed carry permit. For your weapon.”

Hank stood abruptly, kicking back the stool so that Zack had to catch it. “You a cop?” he said, too loudly.

Zack very deliberately shook his head. “No, I’m just a concerned citizen.” He held the stool for Hank, but he just stood there, confused and surprised and anxious. “Concerned, right now, about whether you’re bringing with you more trouble even than that gun.”

“What you talking about man? You crazy or somethin’?”

Zack smiled easily, hoping to calm Hank’s frayed nerves just a little. “You’re trouble, Hank. I just want to know how
much
.”

Hank glanced around, panicked, in every direction before stepping back slowly, his hand inching towards the weapon hidden within his trench coat. “You need to start making sense, buddy.”

“I’m a friend of Eva’s. I’m . . . well . . . I’m a little like her bodyguard,” he said, his eyes conveying a solid conviction and seriousness of purpose.

“You got no
fuckin’
idea what you’re into, man.”

“Hey! You wanna talk like that, stranger, you’ll do it outside, you hear?” An old timer had reached his limit and stood to confront Hank.

“I got this one, Billy,” said Zack. “He’s with me. But he
does
need to watch his mouth.”

Hank glanced from Zack to Billy to the windows to the door and back again, the very portrait of intolerable stress and confusion. “I came here . . .” he explained slowly, “to see Evie.”

“And she’ll be right out,” said Cheryl from the kitchen door. “In the meantime, si’down, drink your coffee, and hope no one else takes exception to your filthy mouth.” Hank felt the disapproving eyes of the other patrons, but sat back on his stool next to Zack and took a few deep breaths.

“Did anyone follow you?” Zack asked.

“Man, I dunno,” he said. “They knew where I was staying, I don’t know how.”

“You need to be more careful. Take some precautions.”

Hank sniggered. “Oh, and who are you, man, some kinda security expert or somethin’?” He gulped some coffee, more out of necessity than preference. “You don’t know shit.”

It had been some time since Zack’s skills had been questioned, but he swallowed the anger. “I’m just saying, if they’re tracking your whereabouts, there are things you can do about that.”

“Hey, man, whatever,” he said, annoyingly casual. “Where’s Evie? I need to see her.”

Zack’s fists balled under the countertop. “So you can put some more hurt on her?”

Hank’s eyes flared madly. “There ain’t no guilt you can bring to me,” he spelled out, “that I ain’t already brought to myself. I hate myself for doing that to her, man.
Hate
,” he repeated, his fist hitting his chest in emphasis.

“Then why not clear the fuck out of here,” Zack hissed under his breath, “and never come back, huh? Why not take your sorry ass back to Illinois and face what’s coming to you like a man?” Had they been anywhere else, Zack would have been yelling in Hank’s face. His anger began to consume him, his fighting reflexes responding to the surge of rage.
Say one thing wrong and I’ll break you in pieces.

“Ah, the men of my life,” Evie quipped, smiling with forced artifice. “My alpha and my omega. Did someone get you coffee, oh brother of mine?” They were silent as the twin doors of the kitchen flapped behind her.

Relief washed across Hank’s face. “Hey, Evie,” he said, his slapdash disrespect creating another jolt of fuming anger in Zack’s gut. “I did like you said, I came.”

“You did,” she confirmed, her tone matter-of-fact.

“And then this guy says, I don’t belong here, or some such, and I should head home and face the music,” he said, jerking an accusing thumb at Zack.

“Just angry about what you did, Hank. Any man would be,” said Zack.

Eva’s expression betrayed her shock. “Zack,
please
.”

“I hadn’t expected you here,” her protector continued, “until this morning when Eva told me she’d invited you. It just makes me uneasy,” he confessed.

“Well, it ain’t making me feel like dancing, either,” Eva assured them. “But we need to focus on getting you to visit with our friend, Hank.”

“I’ll call him,” said Zack, reaching for his phone.

“Already did,” said Eva, bringing Zack up short. “He’s in Corpus Christi for a little longer, but he can meet us tomorrow night, after hours, he said.”

“And what am I supposed to do until then?” Hank whined. Eva glanced at Zack for an answer.

“Shut up, stay out of sight at my place, and don’t talk to anyone,” said Zack firmly.

Hank nodded, resigned, but Eva gave Zack another critical look and said, “Do you
have
to? Be
nice
to him,
please
.”

“Sure, provided he never even
thinks
about hitting you again.”

“I won’t, man, believe me,” he entreated. “This situation is so screwed up right now, it’s just because of that. I ain’t never hit a girl before, never . . .” Zack let him prattle on for another minute, offering excuses and explanations, and all the while getting steadily angrier.