Chapter 4

4

brYAN

A s the ping of a gunshot sparked off the medical transport truck, Bryan ducked. What the fuck? At least in Chicago it didn’t feel like every time he turned around someone was trying to kill him. The sound echoed through the camp, silencing the distant hum of the generator and the rustle of the savanna. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging as he spun toward the sound.

The bullet had missed him, but not by much. A jagged dent in the side of the truck was proof enough.

“Sara!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the stunned silence.

She was already moving, her gun drawn as she sprinted toward the source of the shot. “Stay down!” she barked over her shoulder.

Bryan didn’t argue—there wasn’t time. Staying low, he helped Lara and the others move patients out of the line of fire. Dropping behind a stack of crates, he scanned the tree line, searching for the shooter. His instincts roared to life, the disciplined calm from years of military training kicking in.

A figure emerged from the shadows, rifle raised. Bryan’s muscles coiled, but before he could react, a second gunshot rang out. This one came from Sara.

The lone gunman dropped, his body crumpling to the ground with a dull thud.

Bryan rose cautiously, his gaze flicking between Sara and the fallen attacker. She was already moving toward the body, her steps swift and purposeful.

“Stay here,” she ordered without looking back.

“Like hell I will,” Bryan muttered, following her despite the warning.

Sara crouched beside the gunman, checking his weapon and searching his pockets. Her movements were methodical, professional, but Bryan could see the tension in her shoulders.

“He’s alone,” she said, standing and turning to face him. “For now.”

Bryan’s jaw tightened. “You think more are coming?”

“Probably,” Sara said bluntly. “This isn’t going to stop, Bryan. They know where you are, and they’re not going to quit until you’re dead.”

Her words hung heavy in the air. Bryan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not leaving,” he said firmly.

“You don’t have a choice,” Sara snapped, her voice rising. “This isn’t just about you anymore. Every time they come for you, you’re putting everyone here in danger. The staff. The patients. All of them.”

Bryan met her gaze, frustration and guilt twisting in his chest. She was right, and he hated it.

“What’s your plan?” he asked finally, his tone clipped.

“We relocate you,” she said. “There’s a safe house along the coast. Isolated, secure. You stay there until we figure out how best to deal with this.”

Bryan crossed his arms, his stance defiant. “And how long am I supposed to hide away while the people here need me?”

“As long as it takes to keep you alive,” Sara shot back, stepping closer, her eyes blazing. “You can’t help anyone if you’re dead, Bryan. Stop being stubborn and let me do my job.”

The heat between them crackled like static electricity. Bryan’s jaw worked as he wrestled with the decision. Finally, he nodded, the fight draining out of him.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low. “But this doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“Noted,” Sara said, her tone softening just slightly.

While Sara made a great show of packing his things, he gave instructions to staff. Once they’d set off, he couldn’t help but notice Sara making her way toward the jungle and not the coast.

“You do know you’re going the wrong way, right?” he asked.

“Yep, but I don’t want anyone watching to know where we’re going. The savanna is wide open. Everything is easy to spot. The jungle gives us better coverage.”

Once they were moving along the trail, Bryan froze as he saw a Land Rover dead ahead. Before he could say anything, Sara laid her hand on his arm.

“Easy, doc. We always knew this was a possibility.” She pulled up alongside them. “You’re going to need to give them your phone, just in case, and we’re going to swap clothes and cars.”

Bryan shook his head. “Remind me not to doubt you in the future.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Sara laughed. “They’ll keep going in this direction and by the time anyone realizes it isn’t us, we’ll be lounging on the beach slurping back drinks with tiny umbrellas.”

Bryan laughed. He felt like it had been forever since he laughed.

In short order, they were on the road again—in different clothing and hats with brims that obscured their faces. They made good time, and the closer they got to the sea, the more refreshing the air. He’d never thought he’d be so grateful for the sound of crashing waves and seabirds.

The safe house was nestled on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean, the constant sound of waves against the shore providing a steady backdrop. The isolation was stark, the nearest road barely a winding dirt path, but he recognized the difficulty someone would have getting to them. There was an open field of fire to the heavily re-enforced back and a steep cliff to the front.

Bryan moved around the cottage, his arms crossed as he stared out at the horizon. The salt air was bracing, but it did little to cool the heat simmering under his skin.

Behind him, Sara moved through the small kitchen, her steps quiet but deliberate. She was always moving, always watching, like a predator waiting for the slightest hint of danger.

“You’re pacing,” she said without looking up.

“I’m not pacing,” Bryan replied, stopping himself as he said it.

She glanced at him, one brow arched. “You haven’t stopped moving since we got here. I have all the alarms set up. We’ll know they’re coming long before they get here. If the Land Rover can get us out safely, we’ll take it. If not, we get to the boat at the end of the dock via the pathway or to the one hidden in the cave. We reach that one via the emergency exit in the floor of the kitchen pantry.”

“Just because I’m moving doesn’t mean I’m pacing.”

Sara rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re impossible.”

Bryan turned to face her, the anxiety from the day finally spilling over. “And you’re infuriating. You think dragging me out here is going to solve everything?”

“I think keeping you alive is a good start,” Sara shot back, her voice sharp.

Bryan stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. “And what happens after? You can’t keep me in a bubble, Sara.”

Her jaw tightened, her usual composure slipping. “We’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not good enough,” Bryan said, his voice dropping lower. “You want me to trust you? Then tell me how this ends.”

She hesitated, her defenses cracking under his intensity. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally, her voice quieter now. “But I’ve never lost anyone on my watch, and I’m not about to start now.”

There was a vulnerability in her words that he hadn’t expected. Bryan stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until he could feel the heat rolling off her.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

Sara’s breath hitched, her walls trembling under the weight of his gaze. But before either of them could say more, she stepped back, the moment breaking like a snapped thread.

“I need to make sure all the security feeds and alarms are working properly,” she said, turning away abruptly.

Bryan watched her retreat, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Whatever was happening between them, it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Later that evening, Bryan sat at the edge of the safe house’s porch, the cool evening breeze carrying the salty tang of the ocean. Waves crashed against the cliffs below, their rhythm a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him. Across the small outdoor table, Sara leaned against the railing, her arms crossed, her posture casual—at least to the untrained eye. But Bryan wasn’t untrained.

Her body was taut, her fingers twitching occasionally as though she wanted to reach for something—or stop herself from reaching for something.

“Relax,” he said, breaking the silence.

Sara’s eyes snapped to his, her expression sharp. “I am relaxed.”

Bryan arched a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing smile. “That why you look ready to spring at the first sign of movement?”

She exhaled sharply, a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl, and turned her gaze back to the horizon. “Habit.”

“You always on edge?” he asked, his tone softening slightly.

She didn’t answer immediately, and he watched as her fingers flexed against the wood of the railing.

“Comes with the job,” she said finally.

Bryan stood, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped just behind her, his voice low. “Is it just the job?”

Sara stiffened, her breath hitching, but she didn’t turn around. He watched the faint rise and fall of her shoulders, the subtle tension that ran through her body.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you think you can see right through me,” she replied, her tone laced with frustration but tinged with something else.

Bryan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping further. “Maybe I can.”

Sara turned then, her gaze locking with his. The air between them felt charged, the silence heavy with everything unspoken.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” she asked, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her uncertainty.

“No,” Bryan admitted. “But I think you’re afraid to let anyone try.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “And what would you do with what you find?”

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t know. That would be up to you.”

The vulnerability in her eyes was fleeting, but it was there, and Bryan felt something inside him shift. He wanted to push, to see how far she would let him go, but he held back, sensing the fragility of the moment.

“Why are you here, Bryan?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the tension. “Why did you leave a successful career in Chicago to come to places like this?”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Because the ER wasn’t enough anymore.”

Sara tilted her head, studying him. “Not enough how?”

He exhaled slowly, the weight of his memories pressing against his chest. “Every day, I’d patch up people who would end up right back where they started. Gang violence, poverty, addiction—it felt like I was fighting a losing battle. And then there was… an incident.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt.

“A gang member came into the ER, gunshot wound. His buddies showed up, trying to finish the job. A cop went down, and I…” He paused, his throat tightening. “I shot the guy. Saved lives, sure, but that wasn’t my job. I wasn’t supposed to be the one pulling the trigger.”

Sara’s expression softened, her usual defenses slipping. “And that’s why you left?”

Bryan nodded. “I wanted to feel like I was making a difference. Out here, I can do that. It’s messy, and it’s dangerous, but at least it’s real.”

Sara’s gaze dropped to the ground, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re braver than most people I know.”

“Brave or stupid,” Bryan said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “Maybe both.”

She looked up at him again, her eyes searching his. Bryan reached out, his fingers brushing hers where they rested against the railing. She didn’t pull away, but the slight tremor in her hand didn’t go unnoticed.

“You don’t always have to be in control, Sara,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched, and she took a step back, breaking the contact. “I can’t?—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Bryan asked, his voice calm but firm.

Sara didn’t answer, her eyes darting away as she headed back into the cottage.

By the time he followed her inside, she had a number of ingredients and a heavy mixer on the kitchen island.

“In my old life, I loved baking bread. It relaxes me.”

“You bake bread?” he asked, incredulously.

“Not as often as I’d like mostly because I’d eat the whole damn loaf with a pound of butter.”

Bryan laughed. “Better get two spreaders so I can help. I can think of few things better in this life that hot, homemade bread with melted butter.”

Sara grinned at him and turned back to making her dough. When the dough was mixed, Sara turned it out and began to knead for ten to fifteen minutes. Once her hands were immersed in the dough, Bryan stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and added his own hands to hers to help with the process.

Bryan folded and pushed the dough, letting his frustration out as he pressed down on the sticky surface. About two minutes into the process, not knowing what he was doing, Bryan simply covered her hands with his and let her guide the process.

“Why?” he whispered.

She stopped moving her hands and turned her head about an inch, trying to see his face. “Why what?”

“Why did you have to have a craving for bread?”

“Because it’s delicious.” She obviously had no idea how she was affecting him.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, struggling to maintain some kind of professional decorum. “I was planning to behave like a perfect gentleman, and then you do this.”

“And by this, you mean kneading dough?” She bent down and snuck out of his embrace. “That’s what set you off? Really?”

“The way your hips were moving,” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “And being so domestic. I don’t know; it just got to me.”

She burst out laughing and went to the sink to wash her hands. “That—” she pointed to the dough on the counter— “is what triggered you?”

“Yeah. Why, is it a problem?” He turned toward her and leaned a hip against the counter.

Shaking her head, she pushed him out of the way and placed the dough in the prepared bowl. The woman made him want to grab a bottle of bourbon. Her words and attitude took him way past frustration.

“No. Just never heard of bread being a turn on.”

“Well, it is.”

Sara reached around him, her boob lightly touching his forearm, and he had to bite back a groan. He uncrossed his arms and moved away from the contact. He didn’t give a shit about anything other than making her talk to him. Without thinking, he moved closer, placed his hands on her hips and made sure his body was touching hers.

She looked up at him then. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Bryan stepped closer again, his presence steady and unyielding. “Then don’t think about it,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Just feel it.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning, as the sexual energy began to rise like the dough in the bowl. Neither of them moved for a long moment, the silence stretching as the waves crashed below.