Grin and Beard It(42)

When we finally left, I had to do some fancy driving because several people tried to follow us. I lost them on the wildlife ranger-only trails, locking the gates after me so they couldn’t follow me to Hank’s cabin on Bandit Lake. I assumed she didn’t want anyone knowing where she was hanging her hat.

Once we lost the last of the hangers-on, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry,” she said, drawing my attention to her. It was the first time she’d spoken since we got in the car, having silently understood I needed to concentrate on driving in order to lose the folks following us.

She looked sorry. And worried.

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t interrupt your own dinner for the last four hours. Did you get enough to eat?”

“I’m sorry our date didn’t go as planned. I’m sorry I didn’t tell everyone to back off. I should have. I should have—”

“No. Those are grown men and women, they know better. You were just being polite.”

“I didn’t know what to do. Everyone seemed to know you.”

“I’ve known those wackadoodles most of my life, and I had no idea they were that nuts.”

This made her laugh, but I was serious.

“Well, I didn’t want to seem rude, not to your neighbors and friends.”

I nodded, checking the rearview mirror to make sure we weren’t being followed before I turned on the gravel circle for Bandit Lake. “I get that. That was kind of you, but next time you have my permission to tell them to take a flying leap.”

This seemed to ease her mind. “Okay. I will.”

We pulled into Hank’s driveway and I cut the ignition, taking a moment to soak in the silence. It had been so loud at the restaurant. The quiet felt like a gift.

“Next time we’ll go someplace with no people.” She shifted in her seat, drawing my attention to her, giving me a coaxing smile. I studied the smile, couldn’t decide if it looked sincere or rehearsed.

And that thought troubled me. I was good at reading people and their intentions, but only if I wasn’t too invested. Once invested, I couldn’t separate what I wished to be true from what was actually true.

Saying nothing, I exited the truck and walked to her side, opening her door. I offered her my hand, which she took and held on to with an iron grip. Still lost to my thoughts, I escorted her up the steps to the porch, trying to decide whether I should ask to come in.

Mostly, I wanted to talk. The evening’s events had been overwhelming, so a post-game analysis felt in order. Plus, I still felt like I didn’t know her at all, not anymore. And I wanted to fix that before leaving for the night.

Facing her, I gathered her arms in my hands, needing the connection, and began, “Sienna, look, I was hoping—”

I didn’t get any further because the front door opened unexpectedly and a dark figure came at us. He was holding a gun.

So I did what anyone who’d just had my night would’ve done. I pushed her behind me to protect her, and punched the assailant in the face, kicking the gun away as he fell to the ground. The man landed hard and with an audible grunt.

“Don’t get up,” I ordered, feeling behind me to make sure Sienna was okay. I had a knife in my boot, and I was just reaching for it when the man spoke.

“It’s me. It’s Dave,” he said, and it was a voice I recognized though I couldn’t immediately place. He groaned, “I think you broke my nose.”

“Oh no!” Sienna rushed around me and knelt next to this Dave. “Should you sit up? I’ll go get ice.”

“Who is Dave?” I asked stupidly, irrationally irritated that this Dave person had opened the door and gotten himself punched in the face. Admittedly, I was also irritated that a man was in the cabin at all. The fact that I’d done the punching was irrelevant.

“Dave. You met him earlier. He walked me to your car?” she rushed to explain, standing again and jogging into the house, presumably to get ice.

Two more big fellas appeared in the doorway, both holding weapons and both pointing them at me.

“What the fuck is this?” I muttered, having just reached my limit.

“Put your hands up, sir,” the taller of the two ordered.

“Like hell I will.”

My response did not make the man happy. He started forward as though he were going to force my hands up, when Dave—still on the ground—grabbed the guy’s pant leg.

“Wait, no. This is Jethro, the park ranger. The one I mentioned earlier. He’s just bringing Sienna home.”

I split my glare between the three men, quickly understanding that when she’d said “co-worker” earlier, Sienna meant Dave and company were her security detail. She was a woman who had three personal bodyguards. Three.