Witness in the Dark (Love Under Fire #1)(37)

“Do you want to help clean the rifle while your hair processes?” he asked conversationally.

She didn’t laugh at the fact that the big, tough federal agent knew her hair was processing. Instead, she nodded.

He went over all the names for the components and showed her how to clean the barrel. She’d started to feel comfortable with the gun in the last two days, but after seeing it in pieces, she felt like she knew it on a molecular level.

When they finished with the rifle, they tore down the Glock and did the same thing. They were putting it back together when the timer went off, causing her to jump.

“You’re acting like you have an appointment with the firing squad.” He rolled his eyes and led her to the kitchen sink.

She leaned over and he began rinsing her hair.

His hands were strong, and it felt nice to have him washing her hair. It also felt nice to have him pressed up against her as he moved. She closed her eyes and, despite everything, smiled, enjoying the sensation of his big hands in her hair. Twice, she thought she felt something move by her hip. Something firm.

When he shut off the faucet, she jumped again. She’d gone somewhere else for a moment…somewhere she shouldn’t have been going. Not with Garrett.

He handed her another towel. “All done.”

She wrapped it around her head and twisted it up on top. After a brief hesitation, she said, “I’m going to go look.”

“I’ll stay out here. In case you need a moment.”

She walked back to her bathroom, bracing herself for the worst. As she unwound the towel, short copper strands fell against her head in layers. She shook it out and fixed it with her fingers.

It wasn’t too bad. It was actually kind of cool. Nothing she would have had the nerve to do herself. The color made her eyes look even greener.

She went back out to the living room for his appraisal.

When he looked up, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He muttered a soft, “Oh, hell.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” she said with a frown.

“Not.” He swallowed. “Bad.” He blinked. “It’s…kinda hot.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

She couldn’t remember Lance ever telling her she looked hot. Not even when she was trying to look hot.

“I don’t just say stuff, Sam. You know that.”

She nodded. It was true. He wasn’t one for idle chitchat or meaningless compliments.

“It’s…sexy.” He shrugged it off, but it was the best compliment she’d ever received.

She tried to moderate the stupid smile on her face. “You did a nice job,” she told him, honestly.

“Is it dry yet?”

“Almost.”

“Good. Go to the bunker and get me two boxes of nine millimeter ammo.”

She glanced out through the window and glared at him. Of course he would make her do it now. It was dark, and she’d already confessed that she was frightened of the dark. No doubt he was playing amateur psychologist, trying to get her to face her fears.

Well, she didn’t want to face them. She wanted to hide inside where monsters couldn’t get her.

If such a place even existed.





Chapter Twenty-Five


Sam knew Garrett was putting her through all this for her own good. And after his comment that she looked sexy, it was probably for the best that she leave the cabin for a little while. Before she did something to embarrass herself.

Like kiss him.

“If you make it back in less than half an hour, I won’t make you do it tomorrow night,” Garrett offered.

A half hour would have been doable in the daylight. Close, but doable. But at night?

Damn.

He winked. “We’ll be doing hand-to-hand combat when your shoulder heals. You can hit me then.”

She did feel a little better at the prospect of smacking the crap out of the man.

But she didn’t make it back to the house within the time limit. Not that night.

Or the next night.

Or the next.

A week later, she finally completed the task in only twenty-eight minutes. She leaped for joy when she got back, while Garrett simply smiled and grunted his approval.

“It’s about freakin’ time,” he said, but she could tell he was proud of her.

In the days they’d been living together, she’d learned a few things about him. Like, he was only pretending to be mean. Under the gruff drill instructor mask, he was a kind, happy guy who liked playing poker.

They’d stayed up late one night, betting with pretzel sticks. She’d had a pretty nice stack, until a couple of bad hands wiped her out.

Every night before she went to bed, he would check her wounds. And he would peek in her room to make sure she was okay before he went to his own room. The stand next to her bed held her own Glock now. And she had become a pretty good shot.

One morning, a few weeks after they’d arrived he checked her shoulder after breakfast and nodded. “Combat training today. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

She went to her room and changed before going down the carpeted stairs into what had to be the training room. The walls were white and the floor was covered in black rubber. There were three concrete columns running down the room but the rest of the area was open. The back wall housed a rack of free weights, as well as wooden weapons—staffs and swords.