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He stepped up to her, and her heartbeat increased for a different reason this time. His strong arms enfolded her into a warm embrace and his head dipped to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "We'll be safe here tonight."
His firm warm body pressed tightly against hers soothed her in ways she never would have imagined. Just a simple hug from him made this situation feel so much better. It didn't hurt that he was handsome and had this security thing down like a boss.
"Do I smell coffee?"
Giggling, she replied, "Yes. Let me pour us a cup." Her heart felt lighter, at least a bit. She poured their coffees and carried them to the sofa where Ford sat with his laptop on his knees. "I thought you left that at the house?"
When his eyes met hers, butterflies swarmed her stomach, those dark depths so intense but so purely sexy. "I have an identical one at the house. This one stays in my truck."
"Wow, youareprepared, Ford." She chuckled and sat next to him, wanting to see what he was working on but not wanting to seem nosy.
"Yes, ma'am. Look here." He pointed to his computer which relieved her curiosity. "The house is secure, no one has tried to enter the land, and no one has stepped foot on my land. So, whatever the purpose of Tamra's phone call, to either root us out or to fish, so far, they seem to be leaving us alone. Rory and his guys are watching Stephano's house for activity, and I've not heard anything, so no news is good news."
He accepted the coffee cup from her hand and sipped at the warm brew. "Good. Thanks."
Placing his laptop on the wicker cube that served as a coffee table, he turned his head and locked eyes with her. "Tomorrow we're driving up to Margret June's cabin to see if Waylon and Bobby Ray are there. I'm not comfortable leaving you here alone, so I'm bringing you with me, but you'll need to stay in the truck. They can't see in, and you'll go unnoticed there. If they aren't there, then we'll swing by an apartment that's in the name of El Pablo Guzman."
He twisted to face her fully, his fingers tugging gently on the braid slung over her shoulder. "It's a long shot, but if they'd have the balls to hide out in the very apartment the cartel owns, we might get lucky. Let's hope they're arrogant enough to believe they can stay right under the noses of the very people they've stolen from."
Arrogant. Yep, they were that, all right. "Here's to arrogance." Raising her coffee cup in the air, she saluted and then sipped at her warm brew.
"Now, one last thing. Do you know how to handle and shoot a gun?"
Chapter30
Driving toward the cabin, his stomach clenched tight. He'd woken up this morning with Megan nestled tightly to him, his arms holding her close, the fragrance of her hair, sweet and soft filling his senses. Now, he was bringing her here, and there could very well be danger. And, as stupid as it sounded, he was worried she'd see Waylon and feel something for him. He was afraid he'd see it in her face. They'd been driving for an hour and twenty minutes, and according to the GPS, they were almost there. He could feel it in his gut.
Sweat gathered between his shoulder blades—the first droplet skating down his spine at this moment. Turning the truck onto the gravel road, his heart hammered in his chest. His peripheral vision caught Megan's spine stiffen, and her breathing labored, her right hand holding her stomach. He'd shown her how to hold a gun this morning, how to remove the safety, and how to aim it should she need it, but they'd had no time to actually practice shooting. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to, and if she did, he hoped he wasn't in the way.
"Meg, remember, you stay in the truck, doors locked, and don't make a sound. Pick up the gun."
He glanced at her face, the clenching of her jaw evident. Her shoulders were so tight, they looked painful. He regretted bringing her along. She could have stayed with Emmy, but if he were honest, he was also a bit selfish where she was concerned. Hopefully not to the demise of either of them.
Megan slowly leaned forward and pulled the pistol from its holder bolted to the front of his console. Wrapping her fingers around the stock as he'd shown her, she kept it pointed at the floor, held between her knees, feet spread apart.
Pulling the truck to a stop, he surveyed the area at the end of the road. A shack stood to the left, woods to the right. No vehicles around, no tire tracks, and no life signs are visible. So, he'd have to go inside. Figured.
Backing his truck up and into the edge of the woods to, at a minimum, partially conceal it should someone else come looking down here and keep Megan as safe as possible, he put it in park, twisted to face her. "I'm leaving the keys in the ignition and the truck on, in case this goes bad, and a quick escape is needed. If you hear shots and don't see me running out of the shack or toward you, climb over the console and take off. Don't wait for me if they come for you. Hear me?"
"But, Ford, I ..."
"Megan. Honey. I need to know that whatever happens, you'll keep yourself safe." Moisture gathered in her eyes, and she swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet truck. "If you have to leave me here, you push this button right here as you start driving out. It'll connect you to Rory, who will call local authorities and send help. Promise me."
He framed her face with his hands, her eyes glassy but so very green in the sunlight that streamed in through the windshield. She'd pulled her curly auburn curls into a braid again this morning as he stood watching her deft fingers tame her wild mane. Her hair was becoming one of the features about her that appealed so very much to his imagination. Its softness was like nothing else he'd ever felt, its wildness intoxicating.
"I promise." She let out a deep breath. "But you need to promise me you'll try to come back to me. You'll be safe and do everything you can to come out here and leave with me."
He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. His heart beat savagely in his chest. "I promise." His lips touched hers softly, which was just the opposite of what he wanted to do to her right now. Holding her tightly to him and never letting go would have been his preference.
"Okay. Ready?"
She let out a long breath. "Yeah."
Game face on. Scanning the area once again, he saw the footpath to the front of the cabin and decided he'd go in the opposite direction. If they were in there watching for intruders, they'd likely watch the footpath. He stepped from the truck and slowly pushed the door closed, motioned to Megan to lock the doors and once he heard the click, he pulled a gun from his waist holster, flicked the safety off and slowly made his way through the tall weeds to the back of the shack. Flies buzzed in the quiet, a squirrel scurried up the side of a tree, and he'd be lying if he said that didn't scare him just a smidge.
Reaching the back corner of the structure, he flattened his back to the building, looked across the distance to see his truck, the inside obscured by his window coating, but he knew she was watching him and scared. He nodded for her benefit, glanced around the landscape once more, peeked around the corner and edged his way along the wall to the back door. Taking a few deep breaths, he raised his gun, tried the door knob to find it open, opened it just a crack and listened for movement. When he heard nothing, he slid inside, keeping his back against the wall, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkened cabin, the only light streaming in between the tatters on the pathetic curtains still hanging in the windows.
Cobwebs strung here and there caught the sun's rays over the kitchen table. Dust coated heavily on the top had been disturbed by someone's hand swiping through it in a poor effort to clean a path. A bowl sat in the swath of cleared dust and a coffee cup alongside it. Moving silently, he touched the outside of the cup with the back of his forefinger. Cold. Milk rested in the bottom of the bowl—not curdled—the spoon resting there dry. Someone had been here this morning, or at the latest, yesterday afternoon. Glancing around the kitchen area, he saw that a cooler sat under a makeshift counter, which was nothing more than two by fours with a plywood top. The cooler wasn't dusty, though it was dirty. Lifting the top and peering inside, he found a quart of milk, a package of lunch meat, and a carton of eggs. Severely melted ice floated in the water along the bottom. It appeared someone was staying here. Stepping around the wall to what served as a living room, he saw a ratty sofa that looked like it had seen better days or possibly picked from the garbage and a rumpled sleeping bag on the top. Another sleeping bag lay wadded up in an old recliner, and the smell of the cabin became overwhelming—old blood and feces. Something silver peeked out from under the sleeping bag on the other side of the recliner. Inching forward, he picked it up, glanced at the amulet hanging from the chain and pocketed it.
