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He pushes the skillet off the burner and comes to wrap Jules in a warm, friendly hug. “Good morning, I hope you don’t mind if I call you Jules.”
She shakes her head and grins. “No, that’s fine.”
“Well, you can just call me Strike, if you want to.”
She bites down on her lower lip shyly, not knowing what to think of Stryker’s flamboyant display of confidence. Ranger comes to get in on the action, and nuzzles his nose against Jules’ thigh, begging for attention.
She smiles, looking down at Ranger, who’s wagging his tail a mile a minute. “And who do we have here?” she asks playfully, bending down to scratch behind his furry ears.
“This is Ranger. Any friend of mine is a friend of his. He’s retired military.”
Jules tilts her head to the side in confusion. “I didn’t realize there was such a thing as retired military dogs.”
“Yep, he served four tours in Afghanistan as a bomb seeker.”
“Wow.” Amazement lines her voice, and then she asks Stryker, “So what do you do for a living?”
He exchanges a silent glance with me, but he doesn’t miss a beat in his reply. “I’m more of a private investigator.”
“Oh, and what were you before?”
“I was a medic in the Rangers.”
“Wow, that’s pretty impressive.”
Knowing he needs to change the subject, he steers it toward food. “C’mon, have a seat. You guys must be starved; I’m just finishing up the pancakes.” My brow arches in question at Stryker, and when Jules isn’t looking, he mouths to me, “Gluten-free.” I relax and nod in acknowledgement. I’ve got to keep on my toes here, and keep up with what’s gluten-free and what isn’t. Not knowing what gluten-free tastes like, I just hope the pancakes are halfway decent, because I’m starved.
I pull out a kitchen chair for her to sit, but she doesn’t take notice. She’s distracted by something, so I follow her line of vision, realizing it’s the outside world that has caught her attention.
The sun’s rays filter into the kitchen and living room area as she stares through the set of large, arched windows before us. She’s almost in a trance as she looks out past the windowpanes with longing in her eyes. I feel sick inside, almost losing my appetite with the knowledge she’s been held captive in a cell without seeing daylight for weeks. My jaw clenches as I grow angry at the thought.
Gently, I place my hand on the small of her back, catching her attention. “Would you like to eat outside, sweetheart?” I ask over her shoulder.
She turns to me with a gleam in her eye and gives me the most heart-stopping smile. “Yes, I would love that.”
“Why don’t you go on out and have a seat at the patio table. I’ll bring you some orange juice.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Elated, she flashes me a grin with a glint of excitement in her eyes, and takes off through the sliding glass doors. As I watch her through the glass dreamily, Stryker interrupts my thoughts. “So…how’s she feeling this morning?
I shake myself out of my stupor and begin heading toward the fridge, grabbing the carton of orange juice, answering his question, “I’m amazed at her abilities, how she keeps adjusting and adapting to every circumstance that’s thrown her way. It’s like she just accepts things for the way they are, and deals with it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her complain either.
“She’s a pretty tough cookie, not hard on the eyes either. No wonder she caught your attention.”
I nod, agreeing with Stryker as he flips another pancake. “But it’s more than her looks—she’s just as beautiful, if not more, on the inside.” I pause in thought while pouring orange juice into three glasses. “It’s evident she’s trying to stay positive, and she recognizes the fact her situation is only temporary.”
Stryker arches his brow and gives me a pointed stare. “Does she know you’re not temporary?”
“No, not yet.” I frown in reply. “I’m not looking forward to that moment either.”
He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “I’m glad it ain’t me. I’m here for you, you know that, but I’m also going to tell you: ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”
I give Stryker a slap on his shoulder and squeeze. “Thanks for the pep talk, man. Very encouraging,” I say with sarcasm.
Stryker chuckles as he removes the hotcake from the pan and places it on top of the growing stack. “Go on outside and bond with your woman; your times a-tickin’. I’ll bring all the food out in a minute.”
“Smartass,” I reply under my breath. I grab two glasses of orange juice, and before I head outside, I remind Stryker of our number one priority for the day. “Once her pain meds kick in and she lays down for a nap, we need to head upstairs and start working on obtaining new identities.”
