Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(69)

He stopped, maintaining a respectful distance from her as he folded his arms over his chest.

Kelsey tried to sound composed. “My uncle is your commanding officer, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And your commanding officer asked you—as some sort of favor—to come protect me for the duration of my job here, is that it?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

She closed her eyes. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am’ again, okay? I mean, you’re probably older than I am.”

He didn’t comment, even though she felt certain he knew precisely how old she was. Her uncle had probably given him her bio, for heaven’s sake. That’s how Joe worked. Every mission came with a file, a set of facts to be committed to memory. Kelsey remembered the Abe Lincoln project from fifth grade, the one that—according to Joe—couldn’t be undertaken until she’d memorized the Gettysburg Address.

She shook off the memory. “So your being here, it’s not really a direct order, is that right? I mean, you’re not going to get fired if you don’t—”

“Joe Quinn asked me to come, so I came. It’s that simple.” Something sparked in his eyes, and she sensed that whatever had brought him here wasn’t simple at all.

“This may be simple for you but it’s not for me,” she said. “I’m the field supervisor here. I’m in charge of eighteen graduate students and six undergrads. I have research to conduct, reports to write, grades to submit, and a professional reputation to uphold. How do you think it looks when my uncle sends out some hired hunk of muscle to protect me from the bogeyman?”

He eyed her coolly, not even flinching at her “hired hunk of muscle” comment, which had been intended to piss him off. Kelsey knew the SEAL code. And she knew whatever debt this man owed Joe it had nothing to do with money.

He nodded slightly. “That Ruger you got strapped to your belt, what’s that for?”

Kelsey’s gaze snapped to her holster. She’d become so accustomed to it that she didn’t even notice it anymore.

She looked up and cleared her throat. “This isn’t Disneyland. We get mountain lions and rattlesnakes around here.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Coyotes, mules, maybe even a few border bandits?”

Her gaze narrowed.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s a nice weapon.” He paused. “You know how to use it?”

“Of course.”

“And when’d you get the holster?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m guessing back home in San Marcos, you usually carry it in your purse, right?”

So Joe had told him about her. At least where she lived. What else had Joe told him? Had he mentioned how her boyfriend had dumped her six months ago?

“When’d you get the holster, Kelsey?”

She squared her shoulders. “Five weeks ago.”

He nodded. “After the second break-in. That was your camper, right? The first was Dr. Robles.”

She bit her lip.

“And then when that woman was dragged from her car and murdered last week, not ten minutes from here, I bet that made you think twice, right?”

She didn’t say anything.

“Your uncle cares about you. He told me you’re a smart woman.” He stepped closer until he was towering over her. “He also told me to provide protection for you while you finish your work here, and I agreed.” He unfolded his arms and planted his hands on his hips. “I’m not here to get in your way or get in your business. You want to keep this between you and your uncle? Fine by me. Call me a graduate student and hand me a shovel. But I made a promise to Joe and I intend to keep it.”

Kelsey recognized defeat when it was staring her in the face.

And anyway he was right. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in nearly a week, not since the sheriff had visited the dig site to inform them of the nearby murder and ask if they’d seen or heard anything suspicious.

Kelsey hadn’t. But she’d been in a state of anxious hyperawareness ever since. Just hiking out to this cliff was the farthest she’d ventured away from the group in days.

“Okay, you win.” She crossed her arms. “Now what do you want me to do?”

Heat flickered in his eyes at the question. Or maybe she’d imagined it.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he told her. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

KELSEY QUINN’S ARCHAEOLOGY project was bigger than Gage had anticipated. It encompassed four separate areas, two out in the open and two more inside the cave. Including the work tents—which were really just tarps supported by metal poles—and the campers where Kelsey and her boss stayed, the site included almost three acres of privately owned land that was being cleared of ancient artifacts to make room for a mining project. The area wasn’t large from a security standpoint, but it had its challenges.

The main issue was the unpaved road that skirted their setup. It provided a direct—if bumpy—route from the town of Madrone almost straight to the dig site. Just a short detour off the road and you were right there. Problem was, the road also provided a direct route between the U.S.–Mexico border and Interstate 10—and a predictable array of security risks associated with one of the most rugged and least governable tracts of land in the entire Southwest.