Wild on You (4 page)

“I thought it sounded stupid right from the get-go. So you decided to join the SEALs so you could almost die for good reasons.”

He chuckled. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

“Why aren’t you in the SEALs anymore?”

“Long story. Your father was happy to tell me that you were gay, by the way.”

Hm, way to avoid that subject
. Then what he’d said hit her. “My father was
happy
about it?”

He gave her that hotter’n-sin smile. “I think he keyed in to the fact that we’re both the kind of people who are willing to go to extremes for our causes. Said it was a good thing you were gay, because we’d feed off each other.” He rubbed his fingers across his mouth, leveling his gaze on hers. “Which he was right about.”

Something about that movement struck her as familiar. In fact,
he
looked familiar. She’d seen his handsome face, wide, strong jawline, and sinful mouth before, though she couldn’t place where. “Except you use that drive to kill. I use it to save.” Speaking of saving … She eyed the large sign for food and fuel and took the exit. “I have to go to the restroom.” She pulled into a gas station and up to the tanks. “I’ll put Freedom away.” As she scooped up the sleeping cat, her hand slid right down the front of his lap. She lurched back, the blood flaming to her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t … I mean, I wasn’t …”

“Copping a feel?” He gave her a teasing smile as he picked up the cat and handed her to Addie. “Don’t sweat it, doll.”

Easy for him to say. She climbed into the back, settled the sleepy cat in her crate, then stepped out to start the gas pump.

Risk took over. “Go on to the restroom.” He studied her for a second. “You’re not going to run off, are you? You’ve got the gleam of the determined in your eyes. I saw that look from a guy I was interrogating right before he pulled a knife on me.” He turned his arm to reveal a scar that ran along the back of it.

“What happened to the guy?”

“He told me what I needed to know.”

She blinked, trying to clear away any kind of gleam. “I’m only determined to pee.
Besides, I wouldn’t ditch my animals with you.”

“That would be wise. I’ve never had a pet.”

That stopped her. “Never?”

“Pets wouldn’t have lasted long around my father. He had the patience of a gnat and the temper of the Tasmanian devil. The only time I was around a dog was my senior year of high school, when I lived with my oldest brother and his wife. But Bongo wasn’t my responsibility. I scratched his tummy, fed him when they asked me to, and that was about it.”

“Why did you live with your brother?”

“Dad broke my nose.” He touched the bump on the bridge. “I’d had enough of him.” Even though he’d mentioned his father casually, she saw the shadow in Risk’s eyes. “Your father beat you?”

“Oh, no, don’t get that ‘You poor thing, I’m going to save you,’ look. The same one you wore when you talked about Freedom earlier.”

She frowned. “Sorry, it’s just the way I am. When I see the pain in their eyes, it just cracks my heart wide open. I will not save you. Humans are much more complicated than animals.” She gave him an once-over. “You look more than capable of taking care of yourself. Be right back.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she headed toward the building. She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but she’d seen a documentary about how people could sense when they were being watched. It made her extremely self-conscious as she tried to put in a little but not too much wiggle in her walk.

Who cares? He’s ex-military, a player, and a thrill seeker. So different from me
.

She glanced at him, yes, watching her, before stepping into the bathroom. Nice of him to fill the tank for her. The moment she entered the bathroom, she checked one of her phone apps, then called Shirley. “It’s me.”

“You rousted a good crowd, kiddo. Everything still on target, or did your father change his mind and lock you up?”

“It’s a go, but I’ve got a babysitter. Six feet of muscle and attitude, a retired
SEAL, courtesy of Daddy dearest. With orders to keep me safe and contained.”

“Does your father not know you at all?” Shirley asked in her droll voice.

“No, he doesn’t.” He’d been trying to make Addie into his ideal all her life, holding her up to standards she had no desire to meet. She cleared her voice of the melancholy. “So here’s the new plan. I’m going to ditch the bodyguard at the protest. I’ll take the other van and handle the cub-napping myself.”

“Are you sure? He might be young, but tigers are a handful.”

“I’ve got the collar and the meat. The poor thing was so underfed, he’d probably follow me to Idaho if I was giving him tidbits.”

The traveling zoo had offered photo ops with a tiger cub they called Tigs. The USDA allowed people to use cubs between the ages of eight to twelve weeks old. After that, they became potentially dangerous. While Tigs was clearly older than twelve weeks, Bob Carrigan, the zoo’s owner, kept him underfed to make him appear younger.

The poor cub barely had the energy to pose, much less handle the stress of transport and constant handling. Addie had alerted the authorities, but investigations progressed slowly, especially with a zoo that moved every few days. So she had to take drastic measures if the cub was to survive. According to previous violations, several of Carrigan’s cubs died every year. He sold the cubs that survived to a black-market fur trader.

The protest was a decoy. Addie knew Carrigan would bypass his planned stop to avoid the publicity. The GPS transponder she’d attached to one of their trailers showed their new destination. She would sneak in and take the cub. Then she would rendezvous with the owner of a big-cat sanctuary who would provide the cub a good home. Addie needed to show up at the protest site so she wouldn’t be implicated in the theft. Stealing animals wasn’t the ideal way to save them, but sometimes an animal’s fate warranted extreme action. This cub was going to die otherwise.

Addie leaned against the side of the stall. “Carrigan bypassed Ruckersville and stopped between that town and Charlottesville. I’ll handle the cub,
you
handle the bodyguard. His name is Risk. Well, that’s his nickname. All you have to do is ask him to
help with the animals while I slip away.” She snapped her fingers. “The goats! Have him bring them out to the pen. All three at once.”

“They’re already in the pen. Do you know how hard it was to get them in there to begin with?”

“Exactly. Put them back in the van. There’s a reason for the expression ‘goat rope.’ That’ll keep him busy. He won’t be happy when he realizes I’m gone, but assure him that I’ll be back in about two hours.”

“You’re going to stick me with the brawny, pissed-off SEAL? I think I’ll take the tiger.”

“Just use your charm on him.”

Shirley snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bat my eyelashes and discuss the hygienic issues surrounding oral sex.”

“That’s not charm.”

“Have you ever talked to the male species?”

“This one might even turn you straight,” Addie said. “He did me.”

“You told him you’re straight? This guy must be good.”

“He sure is.” His mouth on hers, tongue sparring with incredible agility … so good. She cleared her throat. “But I’m not going there. I’ve got more important things to do than fool around. Gotta go. See you in twenty.”

Addie stepped outside and saw Risk heading her way.

“How come women take so freakin’ long in the bathroom?” he asked, surveying her. Then he grinned. “Or were you prettying yourself up for me?”

She gave him a smirk. “Dream on, Romeo. Let’s go.”

It hit her that she never fussed with her appearance where men were concerned. She’d dash on some makeup and brush her hair but didn’t care if she was pretty for some guy. Once inside the van, she glimpsed herself in the rearview mirror. Locks of hair had escaped her ponytail, the bane of fine hair. That was all she had time for as Risk got in on the passenger side. God forbid he catch her checking her reflection, and that man missed nothing.

She climbed into the back and checked on the animals, rubbing Rolling Stone’s neck and whispering soothing things to him. “That’s my good boy. So beautiful. You need to do the dog-and-pony show, sweetheart, show people that animal cruelty must be stopped. Then it’s back home and extra sugar cubes.” When she turned, Risk was watching her with what she swore was longing.

He focused on the scar along the horse’s flank and then the poster showing how bad he’d looked when she found him a few months ago. “So you rescue, what, every type of animal?”

“I don’t do reptiles. Or big cats. There are two great sanctuaries in Virginia who specialize in those. I don’t do snakes at all.” She shuddered. “Mostly I’m the facilitator. I get a call or Facebook e-mail about an animal in danger. I investigate and figure out the best course of action. Usually I try to coordinate with a sanctuary or, in the case of domestic animals, find them a home. Sometimes I end up rehabilitating them first.”

She pulled out a photo-collage poster of tiger cubs in small cages with concrete floors, empty bowls of water, and food dishes covered with flies. “I also educate the public. People think it’s cool to get their picture taken with cubs. They have no idea what kind of life they have, and how terrible being handled is for them. I’ve taken these photos at Carrigan’s zoo over the past year.”

“Your father told me you stole a horse when you were twelve.”

“It broke my heart seeing that horse, all skin and bones. Animal control went out to investigate, but they said the horse wasn’t in bad enough shape to confiscate. So I removed him myself. I’ve found that the owner doesn’t usually report that an emaciated animal is missing. Why are you looking at me like that? And just how are you looking at me?” She saw a mixture of incredulity, perhaps a smidge of admiration.

He took her in as though drinking every angle and curve of her face. “You aren’t like anyone I’ve ever known.” His gaze settled on her mouth, and he rubbed his own in response.

This time the action clicked in her mind, thankfully taking her out of the moment, where she’d been about to lean forward and kiss him again. “I know who you are.”

“Uh, yeah, we were introduced.”

“I mean, you’re one of the SEAL team who went rogue and killed the leader of El Martillo, that Mexican organization that’s trying to abolish drug cartel violence. I remember the news footage where you were all being ushered into some government building. You rubbed your mouth that same way, and I thought you looked like that actor in
Magic Mike
.”

“What’s
Magic Mike
?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’s not a movie that would be shown in the barracks. It’s about a male stripper with a good heart.”

He smirked. “I suppose you watched it for the story line.”

“I did. Well, mostly. But that’s not the point! Your team killed innocent people. Does my father know about this?”

“Yes, and we didn’t go rogue. I can’t divulge the details, but I don’t want you thinking I’m some bloodthirsty soldier, so I’ll give you the gist. I’ll keep your secret from your father if you keep mine.”

“Deal.”

“We were following orders. Only they weren’t official orders. We were told that El Martillo was only pretending to be a private organization out to shut down drug cartels, when in fact they’re a cartel, too. Our mission was supposed to look like a cartel hit, but the OIC—officer in charge—got killed and ID’d. So it was either the U.S. be implicated in what looked like an unjustified assassination or blame it on a group of guys following their rogue OIC—a guy who couldn’t defend himself.”

“Women and children were killed.”

“Someone shot the leader and his wife before we got there. It was a setup. He ambushed us, which is how the OIC was shot. Our intel assured us that there were no women or children living at the main compound. That intel lied. But we didn’t shoot those people they showed in the pictures. The girl was alive when we left.” His face tightened. “We think El Martillo faked some of the death pictures to generate sympathy—and outrage.”

She knew there were cover-ups and covert missions and scapegoats in the military and government. That was why Chase Justiss had changed his name and now took justice into his own hands. “People were angry that you didn’t get court-martialed and jail time.”

“It was a mock hearing. We were fired to appease both the public and El Martillo.”

She knew how hard SEALs trained and how much they valued their hard-won positions. If they survived, they usually retired quietly when their souls and bodies were worn out. Risk had been screwed royally for following orders.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, mirroring her earlier question. “And exactly how are you looking at me? Please, no pity. That’s almost as bad as the derision. Look, the way I figure it, I was willing to lose life or limb for my country. I lost my career instead. I’ve survived a lot worse than that.”

“You’re not angry?”

His expression shuttered again. “I didn’t say that. But it’s a waste of time pissing and moaning about it.”

She shook her head, replacing her sympathy and shock with a smile. “We should go.” She wanted to know how he felt about losing everything in such a devastating way, but that would make her want to pull him close and soothe away the injustice. Which would, no doubt, lead to more kissing. And while her body thought that was a splendid idea, her mind was in charge.

They got back on the road, settling in the silence. She kept stopping herself from asking questions about Mexico. He’d already told her more than he should have. Instead, she tried to remember the news accounts. U.S. troops were there to teach Mexican authorities techniques to fight the drug trafficking war. El Martillo, which translated to
the hammer
in English, used just that sort of violent force against the cartels. There was plenty of speculation about a relationship, but the U.S. vehemently denied involvement with them. No one knew why the OIC had led the raid, though some thought he was in the cartels’ pocket.

She needed to stop thinking about Risk and start planning the abduction. Handling
a thirty-pound cub
would
be a challenge, but she had her kit ready. Instead of turning left toward the ranch, she went right.