Just . . . being.
And he was bored out of his skull. He sighed and leaned back to stare at the porch ceiling. No, not bored. There just weren’t any distractions, which meant too much time to think about things he’d rather not think about. That was the real problem. He should have asked one of his brothers to come with him.
With a groan, he rose and raked a hand through his hair. Fine. He’d go inside and make a fire, warm up—and pack. So he could go home and do what he did best.
Which was to throw himself into work until he was so exhausted he fell into bed and slept without nightmares.
A scream ripped through the air and he froze for a split second before reaching for his weapon.
With the sun setting in the next several minutes, light was quickly diminishing.
Another scream.
Brady shot outside, off the porch, and into the yard, trying to discern the direction of the cry. There. On the water.
A speedboat was motoring out to the middle of the inlet, aimed toward the open water, and the silhouettes of two people came into view. One sitting behind the wheel. The other sat in front, hands tied to the rail that ran along the side of the boat. She struggled, yanking and twisting against her bonds.
“Hey! Let her go!”
The driver jerked a head in Brady’s direction. Then lifted his weapon and fired. Brady dove to the ground and rolled. The bullet missed, but was a little closer than he was comfortable with. He lifted his head to see the man taking aim at his captive. She stilled, head ducked, shoulders heaving with her sobs. Brady fired while running toward the water. The man jerked and swung his weapon back in Brady’s direction.
And then the woman was loose. She launched herself over the side and into the water. The man’s curses reached Brady even as he settled back into the driver’s seat and spun the wheel. The boat sped away.
Brady caught sight of the woman’s head just above the surface, but her arms flailed, slapping the water.
She went under.
Brady ran to the edge of the dock, stopped long enough to shuck his sweatshirt and loafers, and dove in. The icy water nearly stole the breath he held, but it wasn’t the first time he’d swum in freezing water. He reached her in ten long strokes.
Just as she was going back down, he got behind her and slid his forearms beneath her armpits, lifting her head up once again. Her back pressed against his chest. She gasped and coughed. Started to struggle.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, relax. I’m here to help you. Rest your head back on my shoulder and just breathe, okay?”
She gave one last hacking cough, then went limp. Hoping she hadn’t passed out, Brady kicked toward the shore. The dock would get them out of the water faster, but if the guy decided to start shooting again, he could pick them off.
“Are you conscious?” he asked. Then kicked, wishing he’d had the time to get rid of the heavy jeans, but he ignored the weight and aimed them for land.
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emily,” she gasped. “Chastain.”
“I’m Brady. Are you hurt?”
“I d-don’t t-think so.”
But she was cold. “Can you swim?”
“No. I mean yes, but . . . no strength.”
“All right. Just be still and don’t fight me, and I’ll have us on shore in a couple of minutes.”
She trembled against him. A combination of fear and cold. Finally, his feet found the sandy bottom of the lake and he hefted her into his arms.
She gasped, coughed, then wiggled. “I can walk. I’m too heavy to c-carry. P-put me down.”
He wanted to laugh. “Be still. I bench-press more than you weigh. A lot more.”
She stilled and he set her next to the dock, out of sight of the lake, protected by the wood. “Stay here for just a second.”
Shuddering, she nodded. At least he thought it was a nod. Keeping low, hunched against the wind that sent shudders whipping through him, he made it to the end of the dock, all the while feeling like he had a target on his back.
But no one fired. He shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed the sweatshirt. He hurried back to find Emily curled into a ball, back against the dock post, tremors wracking her frame.
Without asking for permission, he tugged the sweatshirt over her long-sleeved T-shirt and swept her into his arms once more. She didn’t protest, simply turned her face into the side of his neck and clutched his shoulders.
Emily used the towel to clear the steam off the mirror and tried to calm her shaking. The hot shower had chased away the bone-deep cold, but the horror of what she’d just lived through wouldn’t loosen its hold. She’d thought she was going to die.
Tears dripped down her cheeks as the images flashed in her mind.
A knock on the door made her jump and she pulled the plush white robe tighter, then swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes?”
“You okay? I’ve got some sweats and a dry sweatshirt you can put on while your clothes and shoes dry if you want.”
She opened the door and looked up into the kindest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The gentleness she found there eased her pounding pulse. “Thank you.” She took the clothes from him.
“There’s a hair dryer under the sink too. If you want to use it.”
“I do. Thanks.”
“Anything else you need?”
“No. I’ll be out in just a moment.”
He nodded and she shut the door.
After drying her chin-length, chocolate-colored hair, she changed into the clothes, for once doing so without studying herself in the mirror and judging. She had to roll the waistband to shorten the length, then roll a thick cuff around her ankles. The sweatshirt hung to midthigh. Once she had on the wool socks, she took a deep breath.
She was alive and finally warm.
Only now she had to go explain to the man who’d just saved her life why someone wanted her dead and that he was now in danger as well if they managed to figure out who her attacker was. If not, then Brady would probably be all right. Which meant she should leave quickly.
Gathering her nerves, she stepped out into the hall and followed it into the spacious den area. Her rescuer sat in one of the wingback chairs facing the warm flames produced by the gas logs. He’d showered and changed into jeans, warm socks, and a red-and-blue flannel shirt. His right hand worked a cloth over the weapon held in his left hand. Probably the gun he’d fired at her captor.
“Excuse me while I take care of this,” he said. “It went into the lake with me and I need to get it dried out just in case we need it.”
“In case they find me here, you mean?”
“I would think that whoever was in the boat would be long gone, but you never know about people—or how desperate they are.”
His hands stilled and his eyes locked on hers for a moment.
“He seemed pretty desperate,” she said. She stepped up next to him and held her hands out to the fire. “This is lovely.”
He gestured to one of the chairs to his right. “Have a seat. Your clothes and shoes are in the dryer.”
“Thanks.” She lowered herself into the chair and curled her legs under her. “I should probably leave as soon as my clothes are dry. I don’t want to put you in danger.”
He went back to cleaning. “I’m not worried about it.”
“But I am.”
He glanced up again. “Don’t. I can take care of myself. And you.”
“But—”
“Seriously. Okay?”
She sighed. “Okay. For now.” She took in her surroundings for the first time. “This is a nice cabin. Big, but still cozy.”
“I think so. It’s got three bedrooms and three baths.” He shot her a smile. “Too much room for one guy, but the people who own it are friends and gave me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
“Good friends if they let you undo all their winterizing.”
He laughed. “Yeah, they are. And I promised to leave it like I found it.” He studied her.