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She’d spent the past eight months honing her instrument. Her body. Being abducted and forced to become part of TCW had accomplished three good things in her life. She was in her best shape ever and now capable of effectively defending herself from attackers weighing more than her. And she could neutralize an attacker by several forms of injury or, if no other option was available, death. Never again would she be helpless.
She walked from one end of the compound to the other before her pulse returned to normal, and she had her focus back on what was most important—getting to Augustus.
Not getting hot and bothered by a new recruit.
As she approached the knife-throwing area, Judge wasn’t where she’d left him. She performed a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, searching the area around her for the bearded hunk.
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch at the thought of losing her charge. She was responsible for him and was supposed to keep tabs on his whereabouts. At least until they were confident he was sufficiently on board with and buying into the TCW concept of making the world better by eliminating those with differing opinions. Or by reclaiming the government from crooked politicians.
Another thought made her heart beat faster. What if he’d decided this wasn’t what he wanted, and he’d found a way to escape? Or had Tiberius absconded with him to torture him into revealing why he’d willingly joined The Chosen Way?
Just before PJ’s panic kicked in, Judge rounded the corner of a building with the teenage boy with the dull brown hair, who’d been practicing his knife-throwing skills on the lane beside Judge’s. The boy’s hand was swathed in a clean white bandage, but he was smiling at something Judge was saying.
Judge met her gaze, his lips turning up on the corners, and then the smile faded.
The boy went back to throwing knives with his injured hand.
Judge joined PJ. “What’s wrong?”
You scared the crap out of me, she wanted to say. She pressed her lips together to hold back her words until she had control of her thoughts. Then she tipped her head toward the storage container. “Stow your knives. We’ll move on to calisthenics.”
A good workout would help to burn off the adrenaline rush she’d manifested while imagining all the worst-case scenarios her recruit could have encountered. She wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving him alone again.
Training Judge was proving to be a rollercoaster of emotions that would leave her drained by the end of the day. As much as she willed the time to pass until she could hit her cot, she wasn’t feeling good about leaving him locked in the isolation hut. She’d shown him that locks could be picked. What if he picked the lock on the hut and went on a walk-about through camp? Or ran into one of the guards pulling night duty and got himself shot?
She’d run the idea of moving him into the recruit barracks in the bunk above hers. He couldn’t get down from the top bunk without waking her. That way, she’d know where he was at all times.
Not that she’d sleep, knowing he was less than three feet away.
So close she could touch him…
Yeah, the man lent a whole new level of complication to an already dangerous situation.
Chapter 6
The workout that day was as grueling as any he’d experienced during Delta Force training.
PJ pushed herself hard, expecting him to keep up. Thankfully, he’d continued a strict regimen of exercise after he’d left the military, making it easier for him to work at her pace. Though the more he kept up, the harder she pushed as if trying to reach his limits.
Not that he’d cry uncle. He’d die of a heart attack before he admitted defeat. By the end of the first full day with TCW, he was beat.
They visited the supply hut for clean clothes and hit the shower building to wash away the sweat and dirt from all the pushups and burpees they’d done. Judge had learned that eight laps around the inside perimeter of the camp equated to the roughly four miles they’d run. They’d paused briefly for the sandwiches provided for lunch and then gotten right back to their workout.
At dinner in the mess hall, he and PJ sat apart from the other recruits. When he asked questions, she answered in monosyllables, not offering much more than yes and no, keeping any conversation focused on training.
He was surprised when she didn’t take him to the isolation hut that evening. Instead, she led him to the barracks, where recruits filed in, tired from a long day of training. He was even more surprised when she pointed at the upper bunk and told him he'd be sleeping there. Then she dropped onto the bunk below, pulled the green woolen blanket up to her neck and closed her eyes.
For a moment, he stared at her, dumbstruck. How the hell was he supposed to sleep with her inches away from him? He’d be tempted to steal a kiss in the night.
When he climbed into the upper bunk, he knew stealing a kiss was out of the question. The metal frame creaked and squeaked all the way up, even as he settled onto the thin mattress. Every move he made emitted squeaks from the metal springs beneath the mattress.
“Is this your idea of keeping an eye on me?” he whispered.
She chuckled. “Yup. And an ear. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be even harder than today.”
Judge suppressed a groan. “Sweet dreams,” he said with a little bit of satisfaction.
If he’d read her right, she’d worked them both hard to ensure they were too tired to feel anything more than exhausted. Which meant she was probably fighting whatever it was that was simmering between the two of them.
