Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
I brushed my hand over the metal tracks in the mat and realized what they were. These seats could be moved. Possibly to actually make room for a stretcher. So that meant… Well, why didn’t we sleep in here?
I climbed up and inspected the seats, only to notice the cushions could be removed too. That was awesome. I could make an extra bed with this material.
The one concern was heat. The nights were cold, but I didn’t want to move the cushions to the stone cabin for fear they’d get torn.
To be honest, I’d rather sleep in the helicopter. I’d be off the ground, away from critters and potential spidery monsters, and I’d feel more like I was indoors.
I could totally picture Hyatt and me here. Maybe naked. I bet he looked hot as hell naked. He looked hot as hell with clothes on, so the odds were good.
Fat chance of that happening, but a girl could fantasize. It actually wasn’t my fault he was suddenly my type. He was just so tall and solid and handsome and… His blue eyes held years of experience, and the corners crinkled when he smiled and scowled. The latter happened a lot. He was rocking some silver too, both in his hair and trimmed beard.
Anyway.
CHAPTER 4
James Hyatt
What was she doing?
And why the fuck was she only wearing panties and a top?
Then I spotted the clothes draped across rocks outside the cabin, and I put two and two together. She’d found water, and she’d done laundry.
Did she have to be so perfectly curvy? Those hips were made for grabbing. Her waistline was smaller, but she had some softness there too. That ass…
Okay, I was done. Done and irritated. She was gonna be a distraction.
I wiped sweat off my forehead and climbed the last bit, and then I trailed over to the helipad.
The closer I got, the more I could see. She’d moved the two rows of seats that could be moved. She’d made an open space on the floor, and she was laying out the seat cushions to create what I assumed was a bed.
“Are you honestly redecorating?”
She yelped and spun around inside the helicopter, and she clutched her chest. “Jesus Christ, you can’t sneak up on people like that!”
I clenched my jaw. She could at least put on a fucking bra.
Six days to go.
“I was trying to be nice and return your mattress,” she said with a huff. “Your turn. Where have you been?”
I was still distracted. And irritated. “I saw a bunch of pheasants in the valley, so I set up a trap after I talked to my OH.”
“What’s an OH?”
“My CO. Operations handler. Can you put on your clothes? You’re gonna get sick.”
She knitted her brows. “It’s like seventy-five degrees.”
No, by the look of things, it was much colder.
“Whatever,” I muttered, heading toward the cabin. “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you get pneumonia.”
She let out a laugh that stopped me in my tracks, and I scowled back at her.
That made her stop. “Oh. You were serious.” She turned solemn, but it was bullshit. “I promise. I won’t come crying to you on my deathbed.”
I gnashed my teeth and walked away once more—
“Wait!” she called. “What did your CO say? I never gave you my dad’s phone number.”
I didn’t need it. Her story checked out, and a simple Google search had led us to news articles. Her old man had been interviewed for one, and with his name and hometown, he’d been easy to find.
The whole fucking thing was a case of the Feds unable to do a goddamn thing because you couldn’t run diplomatic relations with undiplomatic Talibans.
“We don’t have all the details yet, but your story checks out, and we found your dad,” I replied. “I told my people to let him know you’ll be home in about eight days.”
She lit up in that way again that kinda deflated me. She had an absolutely killer smile. She jumped down from the helicopter and ran toward me, and I braced myself. Fucking hell, she was going to hug me. Yup, I was right. Fuck my life. She plastered herself to me and hugged my middle.
“Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you!”
Yeah, all right, enough. I patted her awkwardly on the back before easing off. But I wanted to keep that relief written across her face for a while longer, so I didn’t tell her that her team from The Lunch Box was most likely dead. Nothing had come up in the search about ransom or other demands, and the Belgian government had reached a dead end in their quest to get answers. The parents of the second American had grieved on national television too.
“I’mma go make some food—”
“Actually, will you let me?” She grabbed my arm and peered up at me. “I’d like to be more than an annoying stowaway. I can cook, I can fish, I can…help out. I can sort out the border pieces for your puzzles.” Her mouth twitched with amusement.