Chapter 8

8

Hank

As the black Expedition took the exit onto CA-12W heading into wine country, I debated my sanity for pursuing this plan. It was a good idea on paper. Even Garrison thought so. I glanced at the woman beside me. We left Pleasanton forty minutes ago and Thala had been quiet, probably as exhausted as I was.

We had been in each other's orbit for a little over twenty-four hours and the amount of shit she'd gone through with me was more excitement than I'd had in months.

"We're almost there," I said. "You must be tired."

I could feel her eyes in the darkness, so I glanced briefly at her. "You must be wondering if you've gone home with a serial killer."

"Serial killers are loners. Obviously, you have friends. And in law enforcement as well."

"That's a myth," I replied. "Most of them hide in plain sight."

She went quiet for a while, as if in deep thought. "You're right. But more than a few people saw you with me, so if I disappear, you'll be the first suspect."

A deep chuckle rumbled in my throat. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"Let's just say I've watched enough scary movies not to want to be that girl."

This time the laughter gusted past my mouth. "Gotcha."

The princess continued to keep me off-kilter. She was as normal as the next person who watched movies. But before I could continue our thread of conversation, she changed the subject.

"How long am I supposed to stay with you?"

"No idea. But with what time we have, I want to test your self-defense skills."

I expected a huff of indignation, but she simply shrugged and looked out the window. It certainly wasn't the scenery. At this time of the night, all one could see was how far the headlights lit.

The best place for Thala to remain hidden with the best chance for fewer people to recognize her was to take her back to my family's compound in Sonoma Valley. "Compound" was a loose term. The Buchanans had a series of properties and the one that I inherited from my mother was a good ole cabin in the woods. I wouldn't say the princess would be exactly slumming. From what I gathered, she could hack it outdoors.

Family business brought me back to Northern California. I should have addressed this a year ago and I couldn't put it off for much longer. After the Vegas bust at a villa in Mt. Charles three years ago, I'd taken part in a network of online vigilantes to stop human trafficking. Two of my online associates got compromised. One of them got killed, and I spent the last two years trying to find the other one while working for the CIA and the Archer Syndicate. The latter functioned like the underworld police. I'd lived in a morally gray world for so long, I thought I needed a break.

Go incognito and stay disconnected for a while.

I didn't expect to go on the lam with a princess.

A real princess.

I'd guarded and mingled with royals before. But this was different because she was going to be in my world. The world I'd kept separate from my job.

Though doubt plagued my mind and more than a few times I wondered what the fuck I was doing, if I were to base my decisions from the last twenty-four hours I'd spent with Thala, I would say she was one adaptable badass.

I might even admit to a bit of fascination.

I suppressed the self-deprecating, brief laugh that scaled up my throat.

Her head whipped my way. "Something funny?"

"No."

Her silence meant she didn't believe me. I could even feel her gaze trying to penetrate my skull.

"Stop that," I muttered.

"What am I doing?"

"You're trying to read my mind."

"Then tell me what you found so funny."

"Woman, can't I just find amusement in a random thought?" It was a bald-faced lie. There was no random thought. It was about her. And the bit of fascination was an understatement because I was extremely fascinated by one Thala Targen.

Hell, her name was badass in itself.

Nothing as peasant-like as Hank Bristow.

"Maybe. But my bullshit radar is saying it's about me."

I shot her a grin. It tickled me to no end when she surprised me with profanity. I found it cute. Although I didn't think she'd appreciate being called cute. She told me she was used to men trying to test her mettle, outsiders coming into the kingdom to find work. People like me. People like Ramsay.

"Okay, you got me. I was thinking…" I cleared my throat. "You fascinate me."

Silence. The type of silence that made me think I'd been too honest, too soon, but it was also the type of silence that gave her a chance to consider my changing feelings about her.

That I was on her side.

That I wanted to more than hug her when she felt betrayed by her brother. I wanted to cup her cheeks and assure her we were going to find out the truth.

That… record scratch .

Whoa there, Bristow.

Nope. There was no urge to kiss her. I wasn't that nuts, then. I should stop over-analyzing things because I was sleep-deprived and not thinking straight.

I swallowed the boulder of embarrassment. "Well, you asked."

"You're just overwhelmed because I'm a princess. The exalted position of my heritage is intimidating for you."

I wasn't sure if I heard her right, and I choked. "What?"

She stared out the window again. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. I usually lash out with an insult when…I'm…Hela's hell, I'm flustered, okay?"

The internal grin I was wearing stretched from ear to ear. Well, what do you know?

"Noted."

"I can hear you smiling." Her tone was irritated if not resigned.

"It's not a bad thing."

"I'm not sure I like you finding amusement at my expense."

"It's not mock-amusement, Thala, it's more of—" Fuck it. "Cute."

"Cute," she repeated, as if it was a foreign word.

"Yeah…don't sound offended."

"No one has found me cute before," she said, still continuing in bemusement.

"Well, I do, and again, it's not the bad-kind-of-mockery cute." Fuck me, I was usually smoother with these things. "Look, I'm tired and probably not making sense, and I think I better shut up before I say something I might regret in the morning."

There was that uncomfortable silence again where she was analyzing what I was saying.

"You're doing it again," I told her.

"What?"

I cursed. I nearly missed the turnoff that would take us to the Sonoma mountain range. I yanked the wheel sharply to the right. She gave a slight gasp and must have white-knuckled the door.

"Sorry. I nearly missed the turn."

"As long as we're not lost. I'm finding out, I don't enjoy dozing off in a car. My body is craving a bed or any horizontal space. I'm not picky."

"You're not?"

"No. We had tough training in the forest and slept on the ground."

"Then you'll be right at home."

We had another thirty minutes on a winding road. It was paved until we passed the Buchanan Winery before it turned to gravel. The vineyard was on the slope of the mountain. September was the perfect time to be in wine country. The time for harvest when the grapes are heavy on the boughs and painted the landscape with purple and green. The Buchanans owned several properties in this section of the mountain range; they might as well call it Buchanans' mountain.

Ten years ago, I'd given away my family inheritance to charity. I would have donated the cabin, too, except a stipulation in my mother's will prevented it unless it was a group sale. An offer had come up to buy all Buchanan properties, except one relative refused to sell. And it was up to me to convince him it was for the best.

When the road grew steeper, I knew we were close to my mother's cabin. I hadn't been back here in a decade and I wasn't sure what to expect. For two years, a vacation rental company managed it, but it had become more trouble than it was worth. I'd had it recently renovated to prepare for the sale, but other than a few pictures the contractors sent, I didn't care.

Now I wish I had.

"We're here," I told Thala as I pulled the SUV into the front of the log cabin. A wide graveled lot functioned as parking space and the property was surrounded by woods.

When she didn't say anything, I added, "It looks better during the day."

She glanced at me sharply. "It looks…cozy."

"It's bigger than it looks."

She shoved the door open and got out. "Well, let's check it out."

I didn't know why, but I felt like I was on a first date and I was fucking up badly.

Thala

I didn't know how to put Hank's feelings at ease. It wasn't a position I was familiar with. He still couldn't separate the princess from the woman-in-hiding, who by all accounts, had no right to demand luxury accommodations.

A porch wrapped around the cabin and there appeared to be an above-ground basement.

The A-line roof was charming.

"I've slept in hunting cabins before," I told Hank, circling to the side of the structure. "There's another level."

"Yeah, a basement. Storage."

Earlier, when I got out of the SUV, my limbs were stiff, but I was looking forward to finally laying my head down somewhere. I wasn't one of those people who slept easily on planes, trains, and in vehicles. Whenever I was in a sitting position, my body was conditioned to be vigilant. After the milkshake and french fries, I was surprised I fell asleep. But after the highway attack, relaxing was out of the question.

He grabbed two bedrolls from the back of the SUV. I walked over to help him unload.

"I got this," he said brusquely.

"Listen," I told him. "If we're going to be in each other's faces for the next few days, I'm not expecting you to be my lackey. There are things I can't do well like cook or make coffee. But if you need me to chop wood, I can do that."

His teeth flashed in the darkness while handing me the bundles in his hands. "Noted."

"I may not cook, but if you get me a bow and arrow, I can hunt for us, too."

"Now this I wanna see," he quipped. He hauled two duffels from the back and cocked his head in a signal to follow him. "I'm not sure about hunting season. It's open season on some game."

He slung the strap of a duffel over his shoulder to dig out his keys and open the door. He flicked on the lights.

"Well, I'll be damned," Hank muttered.

When I crossed the threshold, my jaw dropped open. This wasn't like any hunter's cabin I'd seen. Adorable was the first word that came to mind.

A farmer's sink was wedged amidst lime-colored counters. Sage-colored cabinetry graced the walls. The appliances looked modern. A stone fireplace sat in the middle. It was an open space with the bed in one corner, a living room in front of it, while the kitchen was on the opposite end with a round table that sat four.

My gaze swung back to the bed in the corner.

One bed.

I stared at the door in between the kitchen and the bedroom and tipped my chin toward it. "I hope that's the bathroom?"

Hank laughed. "It is. At least from what I can remember. Contractors did a better job than I thought. Let me make sure no critters have moved in."

While he did that, I moved further into the house. Two lampshades sat on an antique-looking credenza in front of a plaid-covered couch. Rustic, yet elegant. I sniffed the air. It didn't smell stuffy either.

When Hank returned to the main area, he said, "Wanna freshen up?" A frown pinched his brows.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." But he was deep in thought, not exactly in a bothered way though.

When he walked past me, I said, "It doesn't feel like the cabin hasn't been used. The air doesn't smell stale."

He turned to face me. "My uncle knew I was coming. He must have aired it out." His mouth tipped at the corners. "No one is waiting to ambush us." He gestured toward the door. "I'll get the rest of the stuff. Why don't you make yourself at home?"

I entered the bathroom and noticed the stark difference to the one in the safe house. Yesterday. No, the other day. Was it less than thirty-six hours since my life took a drastic turn?

This charming bathroom had one sink but plenty of counter space on both sides. There was a soaking tub with an enormous window. The shades were drawn. I wondered what it looked like during the day. A glass shower was built into one corner.

After I did my business and splashed water on my face, I grabbed a toothbrush and scrubbed the cotton from my mouth.

When I returned to the main area, Bristow was in the kitchen unloading the groceries. After the ambush, we salvaged most of his duffels and equipment. The bottled water pallet had burst, and most of the fragile stuff we got from the convenience store was crushed, so we had to make a brief stop to get the basics that would get us through the night. PowerBars and jerky. Hank didn't seem pleased. He said he'd been looking forward to cooking me an artery-clogging breakfast.

I'd established that a hungry Hank was an unhappy Hank.

I found the backpack where I'd stashed some clothes among the grouping of unloaded stuff from the car.

The crinkling of shopping bags stopped and Hank said, "We'll get you clothes tomorrow."

The expression on his face was apologetic.

I gave him a small smile and returned to the bathroom. Poor man, this change of plans wasn't his fault. From what I'd gathered from his exchange with Garrison, he was just an interim babysitter and he had family matters to attend to.

I didn't like being a burden.

I started the shower. I wanted to lie down and sleep. I didn't even want to eat. The last meal I had was burgers and french fries at the police station and they were sitting like a juggernaut in my stomach.

I needed this day to be over. Or a new morning to begin.

After a quick shower, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I tore off the plastic on the standard-issue clothes and undergarments. They were far from luxury material, but I could tell they were ready-to-wear and didn't come off a manufacturing line that needed to be laundered first to get rid of a million germs. I guess in case one was wounded, sterilized clothes made more sense to touch your skin and not give you an infection.

I held up the old-woman panties as I liked to call underwear that my grandmother could have worn. Armor might be my attire for the day, but I loved lacy and sexy underwear. I stared at the closed door. I'd never spent a night with a man but neither was I a virgin. Unlike most royalty across Europe where purity was a virtue, our women weren't saddled with such customs. Neither did we flaunt our lovers. Unless the man had taken the title of royal consort, he could never appear in public with us.

Amadea and I never had a consort.

In all my twenty-nine years, I'd had two lovers. One when I was nineteen, and the other when I was twenty-four. The experience was lackluster, and I found better satisfaction with a vibrator. Amadea and I, in one of our rare sisterly conversations, laughed that the legend of our heritage had given men performance problems and they were afraid to give our royal vaginas a hard shag.

My cheeks burned as I wondered how Hank would perform as a lover. And, appallingly, a warm wetness bloomed between my thighs. I was not ready for obscene thoughts to plague me about the man outside.

A rap on the door made me jump.

Hela's hell.

"Are you alive in there?"

"Yes."

"Because the water stopped, and you were taking a while."

I was thinking about how hard you would fuck , I didn't say.

"I was just processing the events of the day."

"Well, could you process it out here, because I need to take a leak."

Oh, I did have a response to that. I yanked open the door and nearly squeaked. Hank Bristow was casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with a half-grin I found very unnerving because it made him extremely attractive. And his eyes…they were tired…but heated.

Or maybe I was projecting my thoughts onto him.

I cleared my throat. "Well, if all you need is to…is to take a piss"—his brows rose—"I'm sure there are trees around the property."

"Touché," he murmured, then his eyes seemed to see through me. "You're flushed. Are you all right?"

"Yes." My cheeks were on fire now. I was not prone to blushing. I'd stared down men who'd tried to put me in my place with sexual innuendos, but with Hank everything was different.

He nodded to the arm with the stitches. "How is it?"

"It seems to be healing properly."

He moved past me and put a small pouch on the counter. "Come here."

"It's really fine."

"We'll put a nonstick bandage on it for a few days."

I didn't say anything as he slipped one out and attached it to my arm. He seemed determine to take care of it and I was too tired to argue. Besides, he was probably right. He left a small box of adhesive bandages on the counter. "I'll leave this here. Change it as often as you like."

Our gazes locked and stayed locked for a few seconds.

"Okay." I broke the eye contact first and walked out of the bathroom, suddenly feeling the space shrinking around us. "Where do I sleep?"

"The sheets are clean," Hank said. "I'll set up a bedroll by the couch." He tipped his chin. "You have everything you need?"

"I do."

"Okay. Door and SUV are locked. The house and perimeter alarms are set."

"Got it."

"Let's figure out how to live together tomorrow morning." He winked at me and shut the door.

I stood there and wasn't sure what he meant. I noticed he'd already turned off the kitchen lights and dimmed the rest of the house. The lampshades in the living room provided the area with a warm ambient glow.

I climbed on top of the bed and just sank into the mattress. Either I was too tired or after spending what felt like sleeping in the vehicle forever, this felt like luxury.

I was spending the night with a man in what amounted to a single room. If the media caught wind of this and, despite how innocent the setup was, it would cause a scandal. But I would worry about that later. My immediate concern was sleep.

I startled awake, disoriented. The whole place was dark, but I could hear the light tapping of a keyboard. Hank was sitting at the kitchen table, his face lit by a computer screen.

"Not sleepy?" My voice was scratchy.

"Wired. Am I too noisy?" he asked. "I pound at the keyboard sometimes."

"You're fine."

"Good. Go back to sleep, Princess."

So, I did.