He liked her. A lot. Like was more unsettling than love.
“Well, you can sure as hell know it’s exactly what I was thinking. Cheating isn’t just damn disrespectful. It’s dangerous.” Ex number two had blamed the infidelities on his long deployments, vowing she thought he’d stepped out too while away. She’d been wrong, and hell yeah, he was still bitter. “I may have been married three times, but when I’m with a woman, I am always, always monogamous.”
“Okay, so no therapy with wife number two. Still, therapy obviously wasn’t successful with number three either if you ended up divorced.”
Some of the tension left her face as she settled into the conversation, so he kept going with it. They both needed the distraction, even if only for a few minutes, to take their mind off what they’d seen since arriving in this nightmare.
“The counselor for marriage number three was especially savvy. He figured out I choose relationships destined to fail… He just talked me through to that revelation a little too late.”
“Hmmm…” She brushed the dirt off his shoulder. “And you feel the need to continue to affirm his diagnosis by picking me?”
“Sure”—he kept his tone light for her—“but it works better now since I don’t make the mistake of proposing. And if I’m crazy enough to pop the question, the woman—you—would be forewarned.”
“You’re an odd man,” she said with what actually sounded more like interest.
Good.
“That’s a fairly benign insult compared to others I’ve been called. I think maybe you’re starting to like me.”
Her dark eyes heated, steaming along him. “My impression of you is organic, open to change.”
“That’s promising.” He skimmed her hair back over her shoulder.
She didn’t move or speak. So he dipped his head toward hers, waiting for her to object, but she still stared back at him steadily. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking in the softness slicked with some kind of lip balm. They were both exhausted and sweaty and there was no way this kiss could go farther out here in hell on earth. But for just a second, touching her made the roar in his mind recede.
“Sir?” someone called breathlessly, footsteps sounding. “You can’t be over here.”
Liam pulled away from Rachel fast, shooting to his feet, hand on his holstered 9 mm. A harried local cop who looked like he’d been given his badge yesterday chased a couple walking in his direction. A man and woman in surgical scrubs raced toward him.
He held up a hand. “This is a restricted area. Not to mention dangerous. Medical personnel are supposed to meet up over there in that tent. The policeman here will show you the way.” He clasped Rachel’s elbow. “We should get going.”
He started to pivot away.
“Hugh Franco,” the man said with an American accent.
Liam turned sharply, already tensed for another sucker punch. “Excuse me?”
The woman pushed past the other and grabbed his wrist urgently, her wide brown eyes steely with… fear? “I believe one of your men—Master Sergeant Hugh Franco—is with my son and my sister-in-law.”
***
Hugh studied the top-off Jeep driving closer.
Amelia hadn’t been thrilled about going into the woods where she was sure the snake had a gang full of buddies nearby. He was more concerned with the possibility of a shady character driving that beach buggy across the sand, and that had been enough to persuade her to make sure Joshua was out of sight. This hell just didn’t seem to end; in fact it got worse the longer he spent with Amelia, because the need to keep her safe was sliding past personal.
The vehicle sped closer, spitting sand out from behind the back wheels. With luck, it would be a cop. But he didn’t count on luck.
The driver behind the Jeep’s windshield was a blur, other than a hat and shades. He stayed close to the jungle in case he needed to duck for cover, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off the driver’s hands on the wheel.
He cocked his head to the side as he scoped out the situation. The face under an outback hat came into focus—a woman’s face. She wore bulky work clothes and gloves that had made her less distinguishable from a distance. A strand of gray-blonde hair striped out from her hat.
The Jeep fishtailed to a stop.
Standing, the woman pulled off her sunglasses. “Would you mind taking your hand off the gun, young man? I’m here to help.”
Except now he could see she had a 9 mm strapped to her waist, belting in her loose white shirt. Of course anyone who had a weapon would be wise to keep it close right now, with the country in such unrest.
And shit, was that another aftershock? He eyed the rolling ocean. He didn’t even want to consider the possibility of a tsunami.