Chapter Twenty-Two

Allen

The next two days pass quietly, with no new intel about Brielle’s case. Mark reaches out to let me know that he has paired Sam and Braeden up on a new assignment, and that the case Jack was working has been resolved.

Hope also reaches out via email about some accounting entries, and I review those over breakfast on Monday morning.

When we are not in bed, Brielle and I spend our time exploring the property using the two-person UTV that I keep stashed in the little shed behind the cabin. I bought the cabin, and the hundred acres it rests on, from my great-uncle years ago, and I love seeing Brielle’s grin of delight as I drive her around and point out some of my favorite spots on the land.

The first question she has when she sees the pond is, “You have fish in there, right?”

I chuckle. “Yes, ma’am, that pond is very well stocked.”

“I love to fish,” she exclaims. “Haven’t done it in forever.”

“Well, then, I guess it’s time we change that.”

Fifteen minutes later we are back at the cabin to trade the UTV for the clunker and make a run into the nearest town for bait.

We argue good-naturedly about which bait is best as we travel – I prefer minnows while Brielle swears worms are better.

We end up getting both, and I notice the glowing smile she is wearing when we get back to the cabin and load up the UTV with two poles, the tackle box, and the bait.

I offer to set up her pole for her, but she declines, then surprises me yet again when she deftly adds the hook and sinker on the line, puts her worm on the hook, and casts her line out into the water. I rig up my line, add my minnow, then cast, and Brielle smirks at my shocked look when I notice she managed to cast hers out farther than I did.

My line is in the water for only a few minutes when she is already reeling hers in to land the first fish of the day, a gorgeous bass.

“Nice one!” I tell her as she proudly holds it up.

“Are we keeping or releasing?”

I shrug. “Depends. You want fish for dinner?”

“Absolutely,” she says, and I rummage through the tackle box and get the stringer out.

***

Two hours later, I admit defeat. I have caught two keepers compared to her five, and we have enough on the stringer for a delicious meal.

“You’re a natural,” I tell her, and she grins. “No, seriously. My fault for assuming a city girl wouldn’t know how to fish.”

“I have a confession to make.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m originally from upstate New York, Allen. Plattsburgh, not New York City. I was pretty much raised on the waters of Lake Champlain. My dad and uncle were both avid fishermen, and they started teaching me when I was three.”

“Holding out on me, huh?”

“Maybe just a little. Aren’t you glad we didn’t make any bets?”

“Very.”

As we pack our gear back onto the UTV, I realize that there is so much more to Brielle Cerver than meets the eye, and I find myself looking forward to a lifetime of unraveling her mysteries.

I stop short and repeat one word in my head.

Lifetime.

Yeah. I am totally okay with that.

***

The morning of the third day starts the same as the last two – a slow, passion-filled merging of our bodies followed by a hot bath, then food.

We have just finished cleaning up breakfast dishes when my cell phone chirps.

I walk over and pick it up, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Call me. STAT. – Pete

With a knot of dread forming in my gut, I dial Pete’s number.

“Boss,” he says as soon as he picks up the phone, “Brielle doesn’t have a stalker. She has two.”

Brielle

I watch, concerned, as some of the color leeches from Allen’s face and he grips the end of the counter for support.

“Say again?” he says sharply into the phone, then listens as he looks over at me.

“You’re sure about this?”

Another long and foreboding silent pause as Pete speaks to him, and Allen runs his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Stay on it,” he finally says. “Updates as soon as you have them.”

When he sets his phone down and looks at me again, I can clearly see the worry in his eyes.

“What is it?” I ask quietly as I move to hold him.

“Voice analysis,” he mutters. “There’s a male that has been calling you.”

“Yeah, well, we already knew that,” I say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“And a female, Brielle.”

I feel my knees start to buckle a little.

“What?”

“Two different callers, one male, one female.”

“What… how…” I begin, but words fail me as I try to make sense of what I am hearing.

“Voice modulators,” Allen explains as he guides me to the couch to sit down. “People use them to alter the way they sound.”

I frown, my mind racing, desperately wanting to believe that this is some sort of horrible joke.

“So…” I say slowly, “I have two people after me?”

“The voice analysis points that way, yes.”

“This is starting to feel like a bad movie,” I say, rubbing my hands over my face.

“Tell me about it.”

But the more the news sinks in, the more pissed off I get.

“You know what?” I say as I stand up again. “I’m done. We’re gonna end this.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m done hiding,” I announce, and Allen surges up off the couch to put his hands on my shoulders.

“We’re not going back, Brielle. Not until – “

“No. I’m not going to abandon my life because two jackasses have some weird hang-up about me. The way we catch them is to meet them head-on,” I snarl, then break contact with him and begin to pace the room, the seed of an idea growing bigger by the second.

“You can’t be serious right now,” Allen protests. “You’re safest here, Brielle.”

“And by staying here, cowering down in fear, I am letting them win,” I counter, my voice beginning to rise in volume. “I didn’t let Tony defeat me, and I am damn sure not gonna let this defeat me. They want a shot at me? Fine. Let’s set the trap and watch them hang themselves.”

The man I have fallen for looks at me, his jaw clenched so tightly that a tic has formed.

“You’re not doing this,” he growls.

“I’m a forty-year-old woman who can make her own decisions with or without your permission,” I retort before I throw his own words back in his face. “You might as well cooperate with me, because whether you like it or not, this is still happening.”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward as his blue-grey eyes change from showing anger to a surprised affection.

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating, pig-headed woman that I have ever met, you know that?”

“Which means I am a perfect match for you,” I fire back, trying to suppress my own smile. “So, let’s do this. Let’s kick some ass and take some names.”

Allen

Seeing the woman that I have fallen head over heels for reach a ‘pissed-off-to-her-core’ level of mad is eye-opening, to say the least. I am a combat veteran, baptized more than once through mortar rounds and relentless gunfire, and even I would not tangle with her in her current state.

The very fact that Brielle wants to go on the offensive makes me almost feel sorry for whoever has been harassing her, because they have no idea of the pending hell that they have unwittingly unleashed upon themselves.

Almost.

I close the distance between us and take her hands in mine.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her fierce gaze never leaves mine, and she never hesitates. “Yes.”

“Then we will.”

I retrieve my cell phone from the counter.

“Pete, we’re coming back. Full team briefing in the morning, eight o’clock sharp, conference room.”

A surprised Pete confirms my instructions and I hang up before he has a chance to ask questions.

“It’s our last day here, then,” I tell her. “What would you like to do?”

She lifts her chin.

“Let’s head back out on the UTV, and you can teach me to shoot.”

***

Within an hour it is obvious to me that Brielle Cerver is also naturally gifted when it comes to firearms. After I walk her through gun safety, loading and unloading, and sighting in, she steps to the line to take aim at the first of seven targets that are set up about ten feet away.

She chambers the first round in like I showed her, sights in, and fires, only missing the center of the target by a few inches.

“Not bad,” I say. “Keep going.”

By the time she runs three clips of ammo through the pistol, she is consistently hitting the center, with her shots clustered in an area a little bigger than a playing card.

“Are you sure you’ve never fired a handgun before? Because this is going kind of like our first fishing trip together did,” I ask, and she laughs.

“Never in my life. Not doing too badly, huh?”

“Baby,” I say, “I am beginning to think that there is nothing you cannot do. Now, switch things up a bit. I want you to try shooting left-handed, too.”

She does as I ask, and while she is not quite as accurate left-handed, she is still good enough to be able to protect herself.

“Nice to know I can still defend myself if I can’t use my right arm for some reason,” she mentions casually as we inspect the grouping of the left-handed attempt.

The thought of Brielle being injured hits me like a punch straight to the gut.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to you having to shoot to defend yourself at all,” I tell her somberly, and she nods.

“I hope that too, babe, but just in case, it’s good to have this skill.”

“I agree. Now, let’s work on shooting as you’re moving.”

***

We break for lunch, eating the sandwiches we packed earlier, then keep working on strengthening her skill set. As expected, her accuracy drops a bit during the run-and-shoot training, and Brielle is disappointed until I assure her that her marksmanship is still quite good.

“It’s always more difficult to be accurate when you’re running and shooting,” I reveal, “no matter how experienced you are. For being brand new at this, you’re excellent at it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and I can tell she is tired but proud of her accomplishments.

“How about we head back? We will be losing daylight soon anyway. I’ll put some steaks on the grill and we can just relax.”

She smiles as she makes sure that her weapon is empty of any rounds before ejecting the clip and carefully packing both pieces back into the case.

“Thank you,” she tells me earnestly.

“For what?”

“Everything,” she says simply, and leans over for a tender kiss.