“Good, boy, Disco.” She ruffled his ears. “Good boy. Good work.”
Liam caught Fang by the collar before she could bolt away into the house. “Are you sure?”
She looked up. “I trust him. If Disco says it’s clear, then it’s clear.”
“Okay then.”
Liam started toward the cabin, but she noticed he didn’t put his weapon away. She followed, dogs at her side.
The place darn near sparkled, it was so clean—much like Liam’s place. The kitchen included a two-burner propane stove with a huge white farm sink. The shelves over the stone counter were stocked full of jarred food, boxed milk, juice, and cans of mosquito repellent. A round rough-hewn oak table filled the middle of the room, with bar stools around it. Cane fishing poles were propped in a corner alongside high-tech reels.
And there were electrical outlets. Heavy-duty outlets for major equipment. She looked at the trunks behind the sofa with interest.
She started down the narrow hallway, finding a bedroom on either side and a bathroom at the end. The thought of a shower or a nap only made her throat close with memories of how close she and Liam had been a few hours ago.
How long did she and Liam have here before everyone else showed up? Would they be setting up or shooting the breeze? Or just making love again so they didn’t have to talk? They had so much emotional baggage between them, they needed a freakin’ moving truck to hold everything.
The sound of an approaching boat snapped her back around. Liam was already at the door, weapon drawn. “Wait inside.”
“Like hell,” she whispered.
Heart in her throat, she pulled her Baby Eagle from her backpack and wished she’d had time for the shooting lessons.
Tucking behind him, she raced out onto the porch. She shaded her eyes against the high noon sun. A new airboat rounded the bend with five people on board. Five?
God, she hoped they were friends, because if not, she and Liam were seriously outnumbered.
Chapter 14
Storm clouds gathered overhead as Liam looped the line around the dock post. He secured the newly arrived airboat, jam-packed full of passengers—Jose James, the Rochas, and a couple he assumed to be Brandon Harris and Catriona Whittier.
And of course, there were two more dogs—the Rochas’ husky-malamute, Chewie, and some Australian shepherd mix he didn’t recognize.
Liam extended his hand to help the women disembark. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Hey, Rocha, did someone mail out party invitations and forget to send one to me?”
Wade Rocha chuckled softly. “You didn’t seriously think you could cut me out of this, and Sunny isn’t the type to sit waiting in the wings, ya know?”
“I appreciate the backup.” He should have known Rocha wouldn’t be left behind. Liam would have done the same in his position.
But so many women to protect. Although better here than out in the open at home. And how much help would the new guy provide, especially if he was battling PTSD?
Liam thrust his hand out. “Lieutenant Harris? Nice to finally meet you.”
Brandon hopped from the boat and clasped Liam’s hand in a firm, steady shake. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help more than I can say.”
The lieutenant’s eyes appeared lucid. His hair was shaggier than regulation, but not unusual for someone on extended leave. He wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt with a college logo—The Citadel. Sure he was dusty and sweaty, just like the rest of the people stepping out of the boat, shoes thudding on the dock. No immediate red flags, but Liam withheld final judgment. Trusting this guy who’d put Rachel at risk would take time.
Rachel.
Even thinking her name right now made him want to hide her out here where he could keep her safe forever—and make love to her without worrying that all their new roommates would overhear.
Liam gestured everyone down the dock toward the cabin. “Let’s get inside before those clouds open up.”
He led the way down the dock, a fat raindrop landing on his nose just before he stepped under the porch on stilts. Swinging the door wide, he waved everyone inside without once taking his eyes off Harris. Gear piled up in the corner until it looked like a scouting camp out on steroids. Rain picked up speed, pinging the tin roof.
Murky light streamed through the windows. He would crank the generator soon, but for now, he needed to get a handle on Brandon Harris before anything else. Humid though it was, Liam simply opened windows for a cross breeze.
He dragged a chair from the table and started an unofficial circle. The women claimed the couch, creating a wall of estrogen, and his team buddies took seats. Harris chose the bar stool nearest the door, his Australian shepherd–beagle mutt firmly at his side as if they both might bolt.