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“Keep her safe, Fury. I’m on my way.”
I drop my phone into my lap and scrub down my face.
It couldn’t get any more personal.
Famous fucking last words.
8
BEAU
“Roger that,” I hear Fury say from behind me, and I turn back as I get to the old, dilapidated gate, my hand on the catch.
“Everything okay?” I ask, seeing his pace increase, like he’s hurrying to me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I frown, wondering what he’s got to be sorry for.
“What did you do?”
He doesn’t answer but instead dips too stealthily for a giant Viking and flips me onto his shoulder like I’m a feather. “Whoa, Fury!” I yell, my world spinning as he whirls around and marches back toward the car. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Force if necessary,” he says, as I bounce up and down in time to his long strides. His answer fills me with dread, because those instructions will have come from James, and James would never tell Fury to use force without good cause. Which means he knew I would fight Fury with either speed or agility. “What’s going on?”
“I do as I am ordered, Beau. You know that. I have been told to stop you entering the churchyard, so I’m assuming there’s danger in the churchyard.”
I wedge my hands into his wide lower back and push into them, looking up to the church, scanning the space, looking for the danger. I don’t see a thing. But one thing I have learned, both as a cop and as James’s girlfriend, you don’t need to see danger for it to be there. I also said I would behave. He will ship me back to St. Lucia faster than I can disarm him if I do not play by his rules. “You can put me down, Fury,” I say, wriggling. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.” He laughs, although I don’t hear it, more feel it rumbling through his big body. “If I wanted to get down, I’d pull your gun from your pants and aim it at your ass.” Suddenly, a gun appears to my side, Fury waving it to show me where it is. In his hand. I narrow my eyes and reach behind me, slipping my hand under my T-shirt. No gun. “You took my gun?” His other hand appears, and in it is my pistol looking like a toy in Fury’s huge, rough spade of a hand.
“I bet you love how I know you so well,” he says, grunting each word with each step.
“Thrilled,” I murmur, relaxing, residing myself to the fact that I am going nowhere.
When we make it back to the car, Fury doesn’t bundle me into the back, but instead rests his ass on the hood, getting comfortable.
“We’re not leaving?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I have been told he will be here soon.” He locks down his arms more, as if he thinks that news might have me putting up a fight. It won’t. I’m just plain confused.
“How long will he be?” I ask, wondering how long I have to wait here draped over Fury’s shoulder. Luckily, it’s a big shoulder, padded with plenty of muscle and perhaps a little fat too. Fury doesn’t answer, telling me he doesn’t know. “Great.” I sigh, trying to push some loose strands of hair from my face and failing, so I give up, and a good ten minutes of silence passes. Silence and no apparent danger. I can’t complain. James is being super vigilant, and I have to accept that.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say. Fury’s been my shadow for weeks on and off, and all I know is that he’s a twin, a tower of a man, with fists like boulders and a beard Santa Claus would be envious of.
“What do you want to know?”
I blow out my cheeks, exasperated. Let’s start with something easy. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Who’s eldest, you or Tank?”
“Tank. By two minutes.”
“And your real names?”
“Tank and Fury.”
