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“Because my gut tells me they are headed through the mountains and on through to the Valley. They’ve got family in Modesto, Fresno, Selma, and in Reedley, and I want you two on a plane to beat them there. When they drag their asses into that valley, I want you waiting like a fucking welcome home party.”
“Then I repeat, what are we doing sitting here eating for?” Dean demanded as her pushed to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“Hold your horses, cowboy,” Cas told him. “My jurisdiction doesn’t spread that far. I have to go make nice with the locals over there before we go barging in.”
“Well, shit,” Sam said.
“Shit indeed,” Cas agreed and stole a forkful of cake off Dean’s plate. “I’ll send another crew into the mountains, get in our due diligence there just in case they are as stupid as a box of shit. But I want you two in a holding pattern. As soon as I get the all-clear, I want your asses ready to fly.”
Then he stalked to the door and was out it before any of them could come up with even a goodbye.
“You mean that son of a bitch woke us up to tell us to wait here?” Dean glared even as he chewed. “Sleeping, waiting, same thing.”
“I think he’s just feeling incredibly responsible and hemmed in by his jurisdiction limits. He wants us ready to go is all. I’ll start packing,” Kimberly told them and began to slide off her stool. “I’ll pack enough for a week and hit a laundromat if we end up staying any longer than that. I’ve gotta call the salon and ask Annalise to reschedule my clients. They won’t mind. They’ve all been really great through this.”
“Whoa.” Sam grabbed her wrist. “What makes you think you’re going?”
“Of course I’m going.” Kimberly tugged at her wrist and looked to Dean for help. “I’m going to stay in our room. You guys aren’t leaving me behind like last time.”
“This isn’t a business convention we’re going to, Kimberly. We’re not bankers. This is dangerous.”
“A hotel room in Fresno?” She gave him a look and crossed her arms.
“Let her come,” Dean said without looking up from his plate. “She’ll have her collar and stay in the room the whole time. Won’t you, pet?” Dean finally turned from his plate and the look he sent Kimberly stilled the very air.
“Of course I will.” Kimberly put a reassuring hand on Dean’s back. “I’ll let Annalise know.” She’d put out at her salon that her mother was sick—so far, no suspicion had been aroused by her frequent absences.
“No. Strip,” Sam said, looking at Dean and going with his gut.
Kimberly froze with one hand on the counter and one still on Dean’s back.
“What?” she asked, clearly perplexed.
“No,” Sam repeated and sent her a significant look he was relieved to see she understood. “I gave you an order, sub. Strip.”
Dean had stiffened, but he continued to eat and stare at his plate.
“No,” Kimberly told him, and Dean stopped chewing. “Have you ever been a woman who had to pack for a week on a moment’s notice? No. I didn’t think so.”
Sam plucked the still warm syrup from the hot plate and poured a line up Kimberly’s bare arm.
“Great, now I have to shower, too,” she said in mild disgust as the hot maple dripped from her shoulder to her wrist like a thick, golden river. All three of them watched its slow, sticky progress.
“Sam gave you an order, brat,” Dean finally said. “Take off your clothes or safe word out and tell us why.”
Kimberly did neither. She stood her ground; her arched brow and her tapping toe dared him to make her.
Dean rose to the challenge. Literally, he pushed from his chair with surprising grace and stood to his full and impressive height. Though he didn’t take a step, he stalked her where she stood.
Dean looked mean as a rabid bear right now. If Kimberly had been in the habit, she’d have lit a cigarette and blown the smoke right in his furious face for all she seemed to care.
That did it. Whatever tether had a hold on Dean’s emotions, her defiance broke it. He lunged. Sam made a move to intervene when he saw Kimberly’s hand. She’d lifted her fingers off the counter only enough to signal Sam back. It was hard to do, with one of Dean’s fists in her hair and one locked around her delicate throat like that, but Sam tucked his hands under his arms and let Kimberly work her magic. She didn’t flinch as Dean bore her back to the countertop and laid her there.
“Fine, brat,” Dean said from between gritted teeth. “We’ll cut them off you, then.” And before she could do more than gasp, Dean slipped Sam’s best fillet knife from the block there, gripped the collar of her tank, and sliced it cleanly in two. The tip a whisper along her trembling belly as he did.
“Hmm, what comes off next, I wonder.”
With the flat of the blade, Dean slapped Kimberly’s pale stomach the way some people toggled a pen, and each light smack made new gooseflesh prickle her smooth skin.
