Weakest Lynx (20 page)

Deep tugged his cell phone from his belt and pressed a number on his quick dial. He reported to Striker that I was still in one piece and had dinner ready. Deep looked over at me while he listened. “Striker wants to know if there’s anything else he can bring in with him.”

“Tell him some salad greens would be good, and there’s no milk if you guys like that in your coffee. Oh, and I got tired before I made dessert. If you guys want sweets, he should pick up something already made.” Deep spoke into his cell, “Salad greens and milk … Yes, sir.” He shoved the phone back in the holder on his belt.

“No dessert?”

“We usually skip the sugar, ma’am,” Axel said.

I looked over at them. Their compression shirts displayed ripply muscles and six-pack abs. Nope, no love handles from midnight runs to Baskin Robbins.

Deep and Axel had a private discussion in the kitchen, both of them looking at me while they made their plans. They walked lockstep over to the sofa.

“Mrs. Sobado.” Deep crouched beside me. “Axel is going shopping for you. What in particular do you need?”

“I really need you all to stop calling me Mrs. Sobado. I’m Lexi. I appreciate your doing this for me, um …” I looked at Axel; darn, but this was embarrassing. I took a deep breath. “I need some loose fitting clothes. You know, so they don’t pull at my wounds. And some panties.” I blushed as I said that—who would have thought I’d ever be asking a stranger to go to the store to pick out my underwear?

Axel didn’t blink. Must be one of those things you learn to do when your job is to pull girls out of their predicaments. “A hair brush, tooth brush and stuff, maybe a hair dryer?” And then came the worst part—I wasn’t sure how long I’d be here, so I might as well get it over with in the first shopping trip, so I’d be set for the long haul. I took a deep breath and said on the exhale, “And a box of regular Playtex tampons and panty liners.” There, I said it. My inner furnace turned up the heat in my face.

Axel ignored my discomfiture. “I’ll be back.” He turned to look at Deep. “If I miss dinner, you’d better save me some.” His tone was playfully threatening.

After Axel took off, Deep asked, “Is there anything I can get you? Or anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Well, now that you ask, Stalker’s head on a platter would go a far piece toward raising my comfort level.

“There are plenty of books.” He gestured over at the floor to ceiling case. “You can use whatever you want in the house, so grab something off the shelf if you don’t want to watch TV. Unfortunately, you can’t have internet here. We can’t take the chance that you’d make outside contact, or that you’d be traced in.”

Wow. That kind of isolation was going to be hard.

“I should also explain.” He pointed to the telephone on the kitchen wall. “We program the phone system. The only lines that go through are your teammates’ cell phones. I’ll post the names and numbers. Of course, in an emergency, you push the button on your necklace. You’ll have a twenty-four-hour guard now, so there shouldn’t be a problem.” He waited for me to nod my understanding. “When a man comes to the driveway, he’ll call in, so there’s no concern about who’s coming up to the house. Like we did earlier. We’re going to try to avoid any situation that might cause you physical distress. We’ve been apprised of your injuries.”

I offered up a weak smile.

“If you’re okay right now, I’m going to go ahead and program your lines of communication, and get some research and paperwork done. I’ll be your watchdog until the rest of the team comes in at six—except Axel. He’ll get here when he can.”

I laid there for a few minutes contemplating my situation, watching Deep do his thing, settling in at the table. I wandered over to the bookshelf to take a good look at the titles. Like the pantry, whoever stocked the house had been eclectic. There were novels and nonfiction of all genres ready to entertain anyone marooned in the safe house. I bet my childhood librarian, Mrs. Shelack, would have loved having the assignment of putting together a collection that held something of interest to whoever ended up here in the little yellow safe house.

I pulled some books down and read their jackets without enthusiasm. They were probably pretty good, but I didn’t think that I could settle myself down to absorb a story. I went over and stood to the side of the window, gazing up the street assiduously, keeping my thoughts neutral, mundane, noninflammatory. Deep looked up from his laptop screen to see if I had spotted anything. I gave him my reassuring smile—nothing out there—and turned back to the gulls circling the sky. Day one and already I was one great big jittery, jumpy, antsy, claustrophobic mess. I had better get hold of myself or this was going to turn out to be a nightmare.
Going to turn out to be
? I shook my head—shit, it already was.

A
t five thirty, I went to the kitchen to finish the food prep. Deep closed up his computer and set the table for eight. Striker came in and put a brown grocery bag on the breakfast bar.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Sobado,” Striker said.

“Lexi, please. And you’re welcome. Cooking is therapeutic for me. I needed something to do with my hands.”

Striker nodded. “You kept pretty busy today. I thought you’d nap on the couch.”

“I needed help passing time and keeping the heebie-jeebies at bay.”

“Were you frightened being here by yourself?” He stood close, his voice pitched low, the question for me only. His tone made me want to be truthful instead of polite.

“A little.” I veiled my eyes behind my lashes, too embarrassed to admit how scared I had really been. As I glanced up, the room spun wildly. I lost my balance, and Striker lowered me to the floor. He crouched beside me with his hand on the back of my neck. The whirling sensation soon passed.

“Come and sit at the table, Lexi. My men tell me you haven’t eaten all day.” He put a supportive hand under my arm.

“Nervous stomach,” I said.

The phone on the wall rang; Deep lifted the receiver to listen.

“Roger.” He turned to me. “Our car is coming up the drive.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The other members of my Save-Lexi Team packed the room: Jack followed in Blaze, Gater, and Randy. They gathered around the table, and with playful banter and clattering spoons, noisily filled their bowls, passing the bread and salad around. As they shoveled up their first taste, the table fell silent, and they fixed their gaze on me.

“Woo-eee. That sure is some kind of good.” Gater stuffed another bite in his mouth. The men grinned, nodded their agreement, and worked on eating in earnest. A blush crawled up from my neckline.

When the men’s appetites were sated—and I kept a close eye on the pot to make sure Axel wouldn’t go hungry—I started around the table, making sure I had the names straight. “Okay, you all go by your call names.” I began with Striker. “You got yours on assignment in Africa.” Striker’s face turned hard-edged and questioning—whoops! I wasn’t supposed to know that.

Better be careful, Lexi-girl. Hold those cards up until you’re ready for everyone to see.
I shifted my attention to Jack. “If Jack’s not your real name, what does it mean?”

Deep bent over the table, pointing his spoon at me. “If you mess with my man, he’s gonna jack you up.” They hooted over this and high-fived.

I looked at Blaze. He had intensely blue eyes like cornflowers—though I’d never say that out loud—and bright copper hair curling disobediently, even in his tight military cut.

“And, you’re Blaze because of your hair?”

“No, ma’am. I’m Blaze for my motto, ‘If I’m going out, it’s going to be in a blaze of glory.’”

“Ah, I see. And you, Gater?”

“Well, ma’am,” Gater eased into his story with a slow southern drawl like a ladle of warm, spicy gumbo. “I used to be in the Marines. I spent a right good amount of time mucking around in them swamps. One morning, I were out there on maneuvers, and I had a ten-foot ’gator sneak up behind me. Before I could blink, he had me in a death roll.”

“You’re obviously here, and in one piece, so there must be a happy ending to this story.”

“For me there is, ma’am.” He gave me a wink. I had the impression Gater used this yarn to pick up women in bars. “I had my knife on me. Not so much so for the ’gator, though. He were spit-roasted on our fire come nightfall.” Gater’s sun-bleached hair, sable-brown eyes, and scattering of freckles across his nose gave him a boyish look, which was incongruous with his gladiator physique. I watched him as he spoke—a little hyperbolic maybe, but he told the truth.

“I hear they taste like chicken,” I said. The guys guffawed and slapped Gater’s back.

“And you’re Randy, and you are Deep.” I turned my head toward the other two men.

“Yes, ma’am,” Randy cleared his throat. “I got my name …” He stopped when I held up my hand.

“That’s okay, I think your names can stay private.” More laughing and elbow jostling.

Jack leaned toward Striker and asked quietly, “Any news on Lynda and Cammy?”

Those names had my full attention. Striker’s posture took on a rigidity; his face turned stony. I could tell he was worried about them. Very worried. I wondered if these were two separate cases or if somehow these two women were linked.

“Nada,” Striker said. He glanced my way, and I quickly took a sip of water to cover my eavesdropping.

Striker lifted his spoon toward his mouth and paused, focusing in on Randy and Blaze. “Deep and Axel completed their assignment this morning before coming in to guard Lexi. How about you two? I understand you made your capture. Did you get the flash drive?” He finished his bite.

Blaze straightened his back and tucked his chin—back in military mode. Commander Striker Rheas was reviewing his troops. I wondered what kind of assignment the men had on the table, and I got a twinge of nostalgia—the fun of unraveling a crime.

“Yes, sir. We made the capture. We had eyes on her throughout the operation. We followed her to the apartment building, where she entered her address for five minutes, and exited. When she got curbside, we made the arrest. We searched her person, bag, and car—nothing there.”

“You posted someone at the apartment?”

“Rod stayed back on guard duty while we delivered the prisoner to our client and signed her into their custody. They conducted a more thorough personal search and weren’t able find the flash drive, either. We went back to the apartment and shook it down, but we can’t find where she hid it. We’re hoping they’ll be able to get her to cooperate in questioning.”   

I grinned, looking down into my stew. Striker caught my grin and considered me. “You know where she put it, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

I looked up and held his eye for a moment, the smile lighting my face. “She probably stuck it the same place I would if two macho guys were on my trail.” Everyone turned to me and waited expectantly.

I looked from face to face, and then back to Striker. “I’d put it in the place every girl knows a man would overlook—the bottom of her tampon box.” I spooned more stew into my mouth. Striker looked over at Randy and Blaze. They wiped their mouths and pushed their chairs back, heading back out the door.

After dinner, Jack cleared the table. I turned on the coffee maker I prepped earlier with grounds and water. While the coffee percolated, I heated water for Striker’s tea. I made a generous tray for Axel, for when he got back, and set it in the oven on warm. Deep took care of the dishes and wiped down the kitchen.

At the table, the men pulled out their computers. Jack asked if I wanted coffee, and I shook my head. He brought five mugs to the table with the stainless steel carafe. I poured boiling water into another mug, dunked a peppermint tea bag in, and set it in front of Striker. Striker looked down at the tea, sniffed, and looked back at me.

I remembered from one of our meetings back in my Alex days Striker never drank coffee at night; he liked peppermint tea. I was amusing myself, playing with his mind a little bit.

“Not what you wanted?” My mouth quirked into a smile.

He narrowed his eyes, cocking his head slightly to the side, looking at me from a different angle. “No, this is fine, thank you.”

With dinner over, the mood shifted back to work mode. All the men seemed to have a military background. Clean, precise, and honorable. They were all “yes, ma’am; no, sir.” Though I wouldn’t say American as apple pie. Nothing light and flaky about their exteriors; nothing obviously warm and sweet about them, either. These men were hard and controlled. Even at the dinner table, where they seemed to be more themselves, joking with each other, they still had the quality of parade rest—a tightness about their muscles and alertness in their eyes, a readiness to spring into action.

They were reviewing open cases; it was inappropriate for me to listen. I roamed into the living room and folded up my bed linens, putting them on the end of the sofa to make room in case the men wanted to relax. Picking up the remote control, I muted the sound while I surfed through the channels, looking for something to distract me from my thoughts …

With my hip leaning into the arm of the sofa, wondering when Axel might get back with some underwear for me, I flipped past the local news. There on the screen hung the rendering of my attacker. The lifelike drawing stunned me. My eyes fixed on the picture; with my heart staggering around my ribs like a drunkard, panic twisted my lungs. Stalker leered at me, a big man of mixed racial background with almond-shaped eyes and a flat nose over a wide, full mouth. Two scars disfigured the left side of his face—one ran from his nose to the corner of his lip, and another ran from his eye to his chin. On the right side, he adorned himself with a tribal tattoo showing black against his light brown skin. Horror transfixed me as memories of that night engulfed my brain. My skin stung like a hive of wasps from the perspiration’s salt. I fell to the ground on all fours, panting for air, tears and saliva dripping onto the carpet, moans crawling up my throat as I rocked back and forth.

Striker barked orders at his men. Firm hands gripped my shoulders. Striker supported my weight as Jack pulled my ankle out straight, and they rolled me onto my back. Randy stood ready with a blanket, which he threw over my legs, allowing Striker to unbutton the bottom part of my shirt and still keep me covered. Though modesty had zero importance to me in the moment.
Help me! Make this stop!
My brain shrieked.