Strategic Engagement

He passed her the bag of nails. "Do this with the other buckets while I fan out and work on the first line of protection. This will be our second ring of defense."

"I'm still not understanding."

"We'll dig holes around the cabin at the most logical places where someone might approach. Drop these inside, cover each hole with a layer of pine needles and leaves over thin twigs. When a foot goes in, it's not coming back out—at least not without a lengthy process and a lot of pain. Even if he works free before we get there, he'll be slowed from the injury."

We. Funny how one word could speed that tickle in her stomach. "Amazing."

"Untwisted bed springs work as spikes, too." He tore the duct tape with his teeth. A hank of hair fell over his brow, and he could have been the boy building a rocket out of his mama's Corning Ware.

She started to reach to brush aside his stray lock of hair.

He jammed the completed bucket trap in her hand as if he wanted space between them. "Here. You try now."

Why was he being so brusque? Hadn't he spent the past days trying to convince her to stay? Of course that was before he found out what she'd been hiding.

She would have known how to break the tension eleven years ago. Now she wasn't so certain.

Mary Elise hopped up to sit in the back of the SUV. She set to work on a second bucket while Daniel hefted out rope, fishing wire and a bag of electronics that looked as if they should have been gifts for the boys.

Wind rustled through the trees, shaking loose a shower of pine needles in the widening silence between them. Where had the guy gone who'd kissed her on the porch? She should be relieved. This Daniel offered fewer complications.

"Where did you learn all of this?"

"Survival training. Study. It's … wise to stay up-to-date." He kept his eyes off her and on the unloading. "There are countless options. Chinese Chopper, Cuban Water Trap, Sheepeaters' Rockfall. But we have to adapt to the situation and means available. The traditional pit takes forever to dig and then you've wasted time on one line of defense."

The reality of it all washed over her again. He was arming for battle when he should be swimming or breaking in the new Zelda game with the boys, prepping for Thanksgiving.

"We're going to use the Malaysian Hawk on the main path in. A log strung high, attached to a trip wire. On the two minor trails in, I'll string Jivaro Catapults using this."

He slid a canoe paddle out of the back. One swift move brought it down on his knee to snap off the handle. "The paddle will be fixed inside a twisted-tight rope tied to a tree limb. Foliage and moss is thick enough here to cover. A stick trigger sets this sucker to spin fast and hard enough to crack ribs. If he finds us before we can nail him with traditional evidence, we'll be ready."

That we word again. Strange how it stirred the same strange mix of hope and trepidation as the traps.

No more passive roles, she reminded herself. Except, thinking about all those maybes with Danny scared her hair straight.

Danny's determined strides down the main road took him farther away from her. No surprise, her eyes devoured the look of him. She accepted the attraction, yet in a day full of revelations a final realization settled.

She might not know about tomorrow. And while she felt safer, she knew better than ever to underestimate Kent again.

All she could control were her decisions in the here and now. She was through running from experiencing life, and she damn well intended to make full use of that water bed at the first opportunity.

Sunrise fingering through the bulletproof panes, Danny hooked a foot on the rung of the bar stool. He clicked through computer keys, logging on to the green screen that signified secured communications with Max.

Reaching for his coffee mug, Daniel kept his back to Mary Elise. A power nap, cold shower and two PBJs had recharged him, not enough to face Mary Elise just yet, however. Watching her sleep was a torturous hell, and he wasn't interested in incineration.Well, maybe he was interested.

But he couldn't afford the distraction, and no question, the woman was one endless distraction. At least the security preparations had worked her into an exhausted sleep through the night. Guilt nicked, but Mary Elise at her pit bull most persistent hadn't been budging. Of course she'd been right in asserting they would work faster together.

He glanced at the second laptop sitting alongside, this one set up with security monitors. He'd rigged two video cameras on opposite corners of the cabin, as well as setting alarms on his three major traps, alarms sending radio pulses back to his computer.

His credit card bill would be hell next month, but when it came to Mary Elise, his peace of mind was priceless.

"Come on, come on, come on, Max." Daniel watched for incoming mail. He'd passed along seven possibilities for underworld types who worked the Savannah area. All fit the profile and description in Mary Elise's initial police report.

The fact that no one followed the too-damned-easy trail a year ago turned his vision red. And why the hell had no one questioned the number of McRaes in the Savannah PD signing off on Mary Elise's reports?

Red turned scarlet.

Daniel channeled his anger into productivity, best line of defense for Mary Elise. Any second now he hoped Max would fill in the next block with his feedback on McRae's overseas bank accounts.

The mail icon flashed. Anticipation chugged. "Thanks, Spike."

Daniel opened the file and scrolled through Max's notations, lists of suspicious bank transfers from an overseas account, crossing multiple state and country lines. McRae would burn for this once Max turned the findings over to the FBI.

Scanning, his eye snagging on a line item. A transfer that routed through three accounts before finally ending … in the Middle East four weeks ago.

McRae had tracked her to Rubistan. She'd been that close to death. Could that have been why his father had called? Because of a heightened threat level to Mary Elise?

Unable to resist looking at her, hungry for reassurance that she still breathed, lived, Daniel kicked his heel to spin the revolving bar stool to face her.

Protectiveness fired into afterburners. Thank God she slept deeply and he didn't have to hide anything for once. While waiting for Max's response earlier, Daniel had cruised the Internet for information on endometriosis—a painful, chronic disease he now knew affected at least ten percent of all women.

Had he invaded her privacy? Maybe. No doubt Mary Elise would be pissed. But he needed to reassure himself the stubborn woman wasn't pushing herself.

And yeah, being locked up with Mary Elise made him think of sex and he wanted to be certain he didn't make a lame-ass mistake that would hurt her. Heaven knew the woman went out of her way to downplay her medical needs.

So now he knew. Discomfort during sex could be a side effect for some. Talk about a splash of cold water. And how exactly would he bring that up if the situation arose where they happened to find themselves n**ed together?

An image he did not need but wanted, so much his teeth hurt.

Mary Elise stirred under the patchwork quilt. He turned away from too much temptation arching awake before his eyes. His ears, however, filled in the blanks. The rustle of covers shoved aside to reveal a sleep-mussed Mary Elise. Soft, bare feet hitting the floor. A gentle sigh accompanying a stretch.

He swallowed hard.

Her feet shuffled a groggy path across the floor. The bathroom door snicked open, then closed. Daniel exhaled long and loud. Then straightened. His ears really didn't need to hear the…

Shower.

The whooshing of water tormented him when his reserves already spiraled in a nosedive. The tenor of the water hitting altered with the intrusion of a body.

He had earplugs in his flight suit.

Fliers carried them to combat flight-line noise and he seriously considered using them now for combating insanity. Except he couldn't afford to miss the warning alarms set on the traps. Not that he expected McRae to track them for at least another twelve hours, if at all.

Just the same, Daniel steeled his ears against the shoosh of the shower beading against Mary Elise's n**ed body and concentrated on typing a response with feedback for Max.

Ten torturous years—or maybe ten minutes– later she padded into the room, barefoot and smelling so good his mouth watered.

He pulled away from the chair, made tracks for the kitchen. Not near enough space in the cabin.

"I cooked." He unwrapped the paper towel from around the sandwich he'd made for her earlier when he'd slapped together two for himself. "Well, if you call a PBJ cooking."

Silk clung to her damp skin, her shorts and shirt already baring a tempting stretch of arms and legs. "Thank you. Definitely a good sign you've moved out of Cro-Magnon mode."

"Cro-Magnon? Who me?" he asked, although feeling very primal. "Lady, I'm more than willing to let you pull your fair share around here."

"Right after you drag me to your cave by my hair."

He had other ideas of what he'd like to do with all that wet hair. Instead, he nudged the open jar of strawberry preserves toward her on the counter. "Fresh open, canned preserves. I figure we'd better use the bread now and save the military MREs—meals ready to eat—for later."

How long would they be here? He wanted this over and done fast for Mary Elise, but also for his brothers. Trey and Austin didn't need any 'more disruption in their lives.

Mary Elise tore off a corner of her sandwich and popped it in her mouth: Her eyes widened with surprise before she rushed the sandwich up to her face for another bite. He watched, couldn't take his eyes off her as she savored the simplicity of strawberry preserves with a sensualist's delight.

Damn, but she was a woman after his own heart.

"Happy Thanksgiving, 'Lise. Not exactly a turkey dinner. But actually much better than the chicken à la king MRE." Shuddering, he passed her a bottle of water. "Even I can't stomach that one unless I'm starving."

"Have you ever been … starving, I mean?" Her elegant throat moved with swallows of water, her mouth fitting perfectly around the bottle.

Answer the question, bud. "Survival training was rough for a guy like me who needs a few thousand extra calories a day to burn up all the energy pinging around."

She placed the bottle on the counter and stepped closer. "All the flyers go through this survival training?"

"Yep." He took a step back. "By the end of the course, rabbit eyeballs actually tasted good."

"Eww!" Laughing, she popped the last corner of her sandwich into her mouth, her tongue swiping a hint of strawberry from her lips.

Words fell out but he lost track of them. "Rabbit eyeballs are a great source of iodine."

Remnants of laughter painting her eyes jewel tones, she sucked jelly off the tip of one of her fingers. "You can't throw me off the track with gross-out stories, Danny Baker. Although I gotta confess, now it's tough to think about kissing your mouth."

"Did you want to before?"

Crap. Shut the yap, Baker. The woman might have a backbone of steel, but she needed time to get over the hell McRae had put her through. Having to fend off someone who should damn well be protecting her wasn't honorable.

Mary Elise's eyes deepened, darkened with two slow blinks.

Uh-oh.

She dipped two fingers into the strawberry preserves. If she put those fingers in her mouth to taste again, he'd die. Right here. Right now. His obituary would read, "Toxic case of deadly testosterone overload."

He had to remember about keeping his distance. For her. And, yeah, for his own freaking sanity.

She placed her fingers … against his lips. "How about a palate cleanser?"

No mistaking her intent. And no way did he intend to die just yet.

Don't do it, Baker.

Too late.

His open mouth closed around her fingers. Mary Elise and sugar. Uh-huh. He was a dead man. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">