Home > Myles (Blue Team #3)(4)

Myles (Blue Team #3)(4)
Author: Riley Edwards

“No gun just message. No shoot.”

“What’s the message?” I asked and the man’s right hand started to lower. “Nope, keep both hands where I can see them.”

“Message. In pants.”

“What kind of message?”

“In pants.”

“Do you know Spanish?” I asked Delilah.

“No.”

Neither did I and this would go a lot faster if I could communicate clearly.

“No shoot. Message in pants.”

This time when the man lowered his hand I didn’t stop him. He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a folded piece of white paper and held it up.

“Message in pants.” He smiled. “No shoot.”

“I’m not going to shoot you. Put the paper on the ground.”

Not letting go of his horse’s reins he bent slightly and let the paper float to the ground beside his feet.

“Who gave that to you?”

“The man.”

“What man?”

“The man. He said to give you message. I watch all morning for you. He said to give you message and keep the workers away until you come. I do it.”

“Tamir? Did Tamir give that to you?”

“Yes, the man.”

For the love of all things holy. It was a sad day when I wished I was back in the Sandbox where I could communicate in one of the many native dialects.

“Where are the workers?”

“No come until you leave.”

I felt Delilah stiffen behind me and I leaned back into her hoping contact would help calm her nerves.

“Anyone back there, Delilah?”

“Are you going to shoot him?” she whispered.

I ignored the clenching in my gut and what her question said about the kind of man she thought I was, and answered, “No.”

Her body sagged against mine and I ignored that, too.

“Gracias, amigo,” I said.

“De nada. Date prisa y vete. Es seguro,” the man returned with a smile.

Since I had not the first clue what the hell he said I smiled back.

The man swung back up onto his horse and motioned for us to follow him.

“Come!” he called thankfully switching back to English. “Safe.”

There was nothing particularly safe about our situation but standing there talking, leaving us wide open for someone else to come up on us, was the very definition of stupid.

“Delilah, you got your finger off the trigger?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Turn back around, hold on to me, and keep the barrel of the gun pointed at the ground.” I felt her shift behind me and once again her fingers shoved back into my pants and she held on. “There’s a piece of paper on the ground. When we get to it I need you to pick it up.”

“I see it.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

The woman was shaking so hard I found it doubtful she could walk.

“Delilah?”

“Yeah?”

“Take a breath. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“Okay.”

“You didn’t take a breath. Breathe in and out slowly.”

I didn’t hear her inhale but I felt her exhale fan over the back of my arm.

“I’m okay,” she muttered.

“You’re better than okay. You’re doing great.”

My gaze went to the sun steady rising over the hill then to the dancing horse at the mouth of the clearing. We were officially out of time yet I stood frozen when I heard Delilah’s soft laugh.

“Right, I’m doing great if great means my legs feel like jelly, my stomach’s doing flip-flops, and I’ve given myself permanent heart damage.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

“Thank you.”

Maybe it was the sincerity I heard. Maybe it was the minute amount of trust she’d given me. Or maybe it was because I knew she was scared as fuck but she’d still laughed that had me holding my rifle with one hand so I could reach around and squeeze her hip.

“Let’s go.”

“Lead the way.”

I led the way, only stopping so she could pick up the paper. The car came into view and with a wave, the man dug his heels into his horse and galloped away without a backward glance.

“Where in the world did you find this?” she asked as I helped her into the passenger seat. “The SUV graveyard?”

It was true, the old Mitsubishi Montero had seen better days. The burgundy paint showed more rust than color but it was mechanically sound.

“This here is what’s called a classic,” I teased.

“A classic beater,” she returned, then her grin faded and her hand covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not being—”

“It's all good,” I cut her off. “Swing your legs in and buckle up.”

She did as I asked. I slammed the door and kept scanning the area as I rounded the hood.

I cranked the engine and smiled at her when the old Montero turned over on the first try.

“See, classic.”

“What should I do with this?”

She held up the Glock, finger safely away from the trigger, and I debated my answer.

“Do you feel safer knowing you have a weapon?”

“Not really.”

“Then put it in the glove box. It’ll be there if you need it.”

Delilah looked over at me and jolted like she was seeing me for the first time.

I knew what she saw. I was not a small man, but compared to her tiny frame I was a giant. I was also kitted out with gear and an AR still strapped across my chest. While we were on the move and her mind was occupied she likely hadn’t thought much about it, but sitting in a car with a stranger after what she’d been through wouldn’t be comfortable.

“You’re totally safe with me.”

Delilah blinked. Her gaze lifted to meet mine and the hazel eyes I’d only ever seen in pictures flared. The photographs hadn’t done them justice; actually, the photos hadn’t done her justice, period. Even pale, way too thin, and dirty she was an extremely beautiful woman.

“Your arm’s bleeding,” she gasped.

I glanced down. It wasn’t bleeding so much as it was red and welted with a perfect outline of her teeth. There were some tiny drops of blood pooling but for the most part, the blood had smeared and dried.

“You got a set of chompers on you, girl.” I knew my attempt at humor fell flat when I heard a whimper. My gaze went back to Delilah. She was still staring at my arm, now with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“Hey, look at me.” I waited for her to cast her eyes up and when she did I saw how full they were—with defeat, shame, fear.

The fear I understood. The defeat I understood. The shame I did not. The shame gutted me. And for some inexplicable reason, there in that beat-up piece-of-shit Montero in the waxing light, I silently vowed to conquer that shame.

I squelched the overwhelming desire to reach over and hold her hand and instead gave her the only thing I could—words that would be meaningless until I could prove to her they weren’t. “I’m sorry I scared you. I did the best I could, clearing the area around the house and inside before I went to you. But I couldn’t take the chance you’d scream and wake up the valley. There’s one of me and my job protecting you would become increasingly harder if an army showed up before I could get us secure. It was my fault. You did nothing wrong.”

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