Boone fought a smile. Atlas loved chasing squirrels.
The fish didn’t seem interested in biting this afternoon, but he didn’t care. Just being outside, doing something, helped him stay level. It wasn’t many people’s idea of a fun Friday night, but it suited him just fine.
He might grill this evening. Atlas loved a juicy steak.
Suddenly, he saw Atlas go on alert.
Frowning, Boone watched the dog as he walked right to the edge of the water.
“What is it, boy?”
Atlas kept staring at the water, then he started barking. Deep, resonant barks that echoed through the trees.
Boone’s gaze narrowed, and he scanned the far riverbank. He didn’t see any movement, and couldn’t spot anything out of place.
But Atlas didn’t bark for no good reason. He was too well trained. The dog barked again, and Boone started reeling in his line.
“Atlas, what can you sense?” He often wished his dog could talk. The line snagged on something. His head jerked up, then his muscles went tight.
There was someone in the water.
Correction. There was a woman in the water.
Moving on autopilot, Boone kicked his boots off and waded in. Once it was deep enough, he dived into the river.
Fuck. The water was cold.
But he’d been part of Delta Force. A Delta operator never let the heat or cold bother him. He hadn’t been a Navy SEAL, but later, as a part of Ghost Ops, he’d worked beside some of the best SEALs in the world. They’d taught him a few things.
Boone sliced through the water, ignoring the temperature. His brain clicked into mission mode. He blocked out the physical discomfort and focused on his mission objective.
The current was swift, but manageable. The woman was being tossed around by the water. Shit, was she still alive?
He reached her and hauled her to him, pulling her onto her back. He yanked the fishing hook free of her hair, then started back toward the bank. Atlas stood at attention, his body alert and tense.
Boone’s feet touched the rocky bottom, and he stood, then he hauled the woman into his arms. She was a sodden dead weight.
Damn. Please be alive.
He strode out of the water and dropped to his knees on the grass. He laid her out, and got the impression of tangled dark hair, and a scatter of freckles on pale, pale skin.
He pressed a palm to her chest, then he let out a sharp breath. She was breathing.
“Hey, can you hear me?” He pressed two fingers to the side of her neck and felt a fluttering pulse against his fingers.
Thank fuck.
“Time to open those eyes.” Gently, he patted down her body, searching for any serious injuries. She was small and curvy. There were no obvious injuries, except that her feet were bare and scratched up.
He frowned. What the hell had happened to her? Where had she come from?
That’s when he noted the faint abrasions on her wrists. Hell. Had she been tied up?
Atlas sat close and whined.
“She’ll be all right, buddy. We’ll make sure of it.”
He pushed her hair off her face. She had a nasty bump at the base of her skull. She’d hit her head on something.
“Okay, sleeping beauty. Wake up.” Her skin was cold. The water was icy, and he had no idea how long she’d been in it. Hypothermia was a risk.
Suddenly, the woman moaned and reared up. Her eyes opened.
Boone stilled. Her eyes were hazel. Green with gold flecks.
Oh, fuck. He knew her.
He’d seen her face on the television, and in news articles, when she’d been pictured with her father.
It wasn’t every day Boone fished a billionaire heiress out of the river.
Gemma Newhouse was the daughter of the richest man in America.
Shit. Boone smelled trouble. The bad kind.
“Who—?” She coughed, then turned to the side and vomited up river water.
“There you go.” He touched her back.
“God.” She sucked in a breath, awareness seeping a little into her hazy eyes. “Who are you?” She tried to scramble backward. “Leave me alone!”
Boone held out a hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just pulled you out of the river.”
“River?” Her brow wrinkled. She touched the side of her head and looked confused. “I can’t think.”
“What happened to you? Did you fall into the river?”
“I…I’m not sure.” She rubbed her temples. “People were chasing me. I ran.” Atlas whined, and Gemma jolted, staring at the dog. “Oh.”
“He’s friendly.”
“Hi.” She held out a shaky hand and Atlas licked it.
Boone saw a faint flicker of a smile on her lips. “This is Atlas. He’s a huge flirt.”
She swallowed and looked nervous.
He kept his tone friendly and even. “Gemma, I’m Boone.”
She tensed. “You know my name.”
“I think most of the country knows your name. One, because of your father.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Is there a two?”
“Yes.” Boone cleared his throat. “Atlas likes watching Cake and Bake.”
She’d been a contestant on the popular reality baking show.
Her eyebrows winged up. “Really? Your dog watches TV?”
“Really. He loves it. Now, let’s get you to the hospital.”
Her arm snapped out, and she gripped his wrist. “No.”
Boone paused. “I—”
“No.” Her voice was a frantic whisper. “They’ll find me.”
Head still foggy and throbbing, Gemma tried to think straight.
It was hard to do with fear choking her. She shivered. And when she was frozen. She felt like her insides had turned to ice.
Blinking, she focused on her rescuer.
Her heart thumped. Her gruff, handsome rescuer.
Apparently, her brain wasn’t so cold and scared that it couldn’t appreciate a hot guy. Her stomach did a sickening turn. Could she trust him, though?
She wrapped her arms around her middle. She felt so alone. She had no idea what to do.
“Come on,” Boone said. “Let’s start by getting you out of those wet clothes and warmed up.”
Boone—boy, the name suited him. He had a mountain-man vibe, but he also reminded her of Captain America. Tall, muscled, steady, a superhero ready to save the world. His eyes were golden brown, and looked like they assessed everything.
What if he sells you out to the men who are hunting you?
She bit her lip. One thing she’d learned having a really wealthy father was that money motivated people to do terrible things. It turned generally honest, normal people into greedy, horrible people. She’d had friends betray her. Try to steal from her. People befriend her just to try to get closer to her father and his billions.
Boone’s dog Atlas bumped his head against her shoulder.
She patted the dog, admiring his black and tan coloring. Surely a man who had such a gorgeous dog couldn’t be bad? She met Boone’s gaze. He looked back steadily. Then she nodded.
He helped her sit up, and she saw the muscles in his arms flex. His flannel shirt was rolled up to his elbows, showing off a pair of muscled forearms. One was covered in black ink. She’d never had a thing for mountain men before, but she was starting to see the appeal.
Her head throbbed. God, she was losing her mind. Her life was in danger and she was staring at a stranger’s arms.
“Gemma?”